


To Know Your Target

by KivaEmber, pana (panaceaa)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Needs a Hug, Akechi Goro Redemption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Non-Explicit Sex, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, Romance, Shido Masayoshi's A+ Parenting, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Unethical Experimentation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 193,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26781733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber, https://archiveofourown.org/users/panaceaa/pseuds/pana
Summary: "Love is knowing your target, putting them in your targeting reticule, and together, achieving a singular purpose against statistically long odds."In which Goro Akechi joins the team during Kaneshiro's palace arc instead of Makoto.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 473
Kudos: 1490
Collections: Marigolds Discord Recs, Mixed_Fics, Quality Persona Fics, persona fic recommendations





	1. AKIRA I: A Chance Meeting

Akira really has no idea what he’s just gotten himself into.

He knows enough to realize that it’s nothing good. There’s talks of drug trafficking all around the school and it all leads back to some mysterious face who apparently has more than enough power to destroy lives. If only his parents could see him now, they’d probably regret sending him away to Tokyo in the first place. Maybe they’d even send him to some other town in the countryside where he could stay out of trouble for once in his life.

Then again, knowing his luck there’d probably be some issue there that he’d end up getting blamed for. Or well, caught up in, one way or another. Armed robberies. Arson. Unwilling accomplice to a murder-

It just always seemed like for as much as he tried, keeping his head down and living an honest life never really worked out for him.

That would explain why it’s only June 16th, just over two months since he first came to Tokyo, and yet somehow he’s found himself here. Standing next to a very tensed up Makoto Niijima as a guy who is very likely a member of an underground crime syndicate asks them if they want a “delivery” job. One day he’d be able to have a nice normal afternoon like an ordinary high schooler. He’d get lunch, maybe spend some time at the arcade, throw a few rocks in a pond. For what it’s worth, he used to be _very_ good at skipping stones. 

Suspiciously Sleazy Guy, as Akira’s gotten to calling him in his head, is clearly waiting for their answer. Akira is about to answer him with a solid ‘ _No_ ’, because contrary to popular belief he does not in fact have a death wish. And yet, before the words can even leave his mouth, Makoto is there speaking up in his place.

“Hm...by delivery, do you mean that of suspicious materials?” she asks like she’s questioning the use of soy milk at a cafe, and not staring a possible mafia member in the face.

 _Great going Makoto. You really got him now._ Well, Akira supposes he lived a good life.

“What’s up with you anyways?” Suspiciously Sleazy Guy asks, possibly delaying their murder until more of his friends show up. “Why’re you asking all these questions, huh?”

Well, if Akira had to guess, it was because for a smart girl, Makoto was incredibly stupid. He should probably help out a little.

“Violence is not the answer,” Akira finds himself saying the very first thing that comes to mind.

Because really this entire situation seemed like it was out of some B movie script, so might as well play the hero and pray it’s not going to leave him with a knife shoved through his abdomen. Actually, that wasn’t sounding that bad right about now. Maybe they should antagonize him more and really see how far these criminals were willing to go. Death in the name of research, at least it’d probably sound nice at his funeral.

“...It was all a joke,” says the guy as he takes a few steps back from them. “Why would I get worked up over some kids?”

And well, it was at least nice to know that Akira was apparently _very_ threatening. The disheveled high school student look paired with some uppity line about morals was apparently super effective towards a suspiciously sleazy goon who probably still had that knife in his pocket. Coward. Akira was still waiting for his poetic murder.

“U-um,” Makoto stutters, making it clear that she wasn’t done yet, “if you don’t want to deal with us, we could always go see your boss ourselves.”

...How were they still alive, again?

Akira and the man have a true moment together as they both turn to look at Makoto in complete disbelief, and Akira finds himself with the sudden urge to scream. Luckily for him he had a great poker face, and was generally rather skilled at shoving all his emotions away to worry about later.

“You’re really gonna say that,” the guy says, “knowing who he is?”

And just how, Mr. Suspiciously Sleazy Guy, are they supposed to know who the boss is? Unfortunately, he continues to be of absolutely no help as he spits some line about being bored with them before turning and waddling off, hands still on his hips like he was determined to make the world’s worst impression of some kind of bird. That or he had back problems. Probably from spending so much time looking his small teenage business associates in the eye.

“I’m pretty sure he’s part of the mafia we’re looking for,” Makoto turns to him and says, confirming the obvious. Akira stares at her for what might be a moment too long, trying to see if she’s kidding. He doesn’t think she is.

“I’m amazed you figured it out.”

If Makoto notices the deadpan note to his voice, she doesn’t comment on it.

“I don’t have any proof though,” she continues instead. “I tried to trick him into saying something, but he dodged all the traps I was laying down.”

...The _what_?

“By the way-”

Whatever she had been about to say next gets cut off by an overly pleasant voice. Akira would say he was thankful for the interruption, that is until he realizes who exactly was doing the interrupting.

He had to say, this day was starting to be full of surprises.

“Oh Kurusu-kun. And Niijima-san, what a coincidence to find you both here,” Goro Akechi greets them, smiling pleasantly. He’s wearing that argyle blue sweater again, as if it’s not the end of June and scorching hot out. Akira kind of wonders if he just wears his uniform so much that he never bothered to buy a variety of everyday clothes, or maybe he just owned a collection of argyle blue sweaters because he actually _liked_ them that much. Honestly, he’s not really sure which option is worse.

Akira’s so busy contemplating his fashion sense that he almost forgets that he’s supposed to be listening to what he’s saying.

“I saw that shady looking man speaking with you,” Akechi says, for some reason staring only at Akira as he speaks. “And I came to see if you perhaps needed any assistance.”

“We had it handled,” Makoto spits back, a little too defensively, reminding Akira of a bristling cat.

“Oh?” Akechi says, finally turning to look at her with widened eyes. “Well, it seems I’m unneeded then.” Akechi smiles again, that perfect TV smile that seems forced, before he turns and looks off in the direction Sleazy had left. He tilts his head a little, as if considering something. “Still, he did seem like quite the suspicious individual, what was it that he said to you?”

As he asks the question, he looks towards Akira as if expecting him to be the one to answer. Akira’s not really sure why, normally he just makes things up as he goes.

“He wanted us to join a gang,” Akira finds himself saying, regretting nothing when he notices Akechi’s brow twitch even as he maintains his smile.

“And I take it you refused his offer?”

“Nope,” Akira answers him, popping the p and offering a small shrug with his hands still shoved in his pockets. He hopes he conveys the perfect picture of nonchalance that will end up annoying Akechi enough that he’ll stop asking questions. “I’ve always wanted to experience the gang lifestyle,” he continues very seriously, as he removes one hand from his pocket to point it at Akechi like a gun. “Now quick, give us all your money.”

Akechi raises a brow at him, “You really do have quite the interesting sense of humor.”

“You don’t think I’m dangerous?”

“No more than I am, I’m afraid,” Akechi says with a small laugh. “Although…” He looks between the two of them. “Neither of you seem particularly bothered. You weren’t perhaps meeting with him intentionally, were you?”

Akira is about to pull out a line about the indication that he would be meeting strange men on backstreets, when Makoto decides to answer for him in the most unhelpful way possible. He’s sure she had the best intentions, but wow was she bad at this.

“Wha- no. No, of course not!” She says in an Oscar winning performance for the most obviously suspicious actress. “Why would we do that!?”

Akira barely represses the urge to start hitting his head against the wall. From inside his bag, Mona groans, and Akira finds himself glad they’re once again on the same page.

“Ah, my mistake then,” Akechi says, as if he actually believed her. Liar. “I didn’t intend to imply anything, it was only a matter of curiosity.” He briefly looks down at his phone before once again solely addressing Akira. “Well I really should be going now, I hope we can speak again soon.”

Akechi gives them both a small nod of acknowledgment before turning and making his way back onto the crowded city street, vanishing from sight.

“I’m going to go too,” Makoto says quickly afterward, and after she’s gone Mona takes the opportunity to finally pop out from his bag. “Is it just me,” Mona says, “or did that seem a little weird to you?”

This was why Mona was his best friend. He noticed when a detective showed up to question them at a way too opportune time, to ask them way too many questions. Partners in crime they were, really.

“It wasn’t just you.”

“What is that detective up to?” Mona asks. Of course Akira doesn’t really know the answer to that, so he just reaches up to scratch at Mona’s ear and decides to buy them both sushi later.

***

Exactly two days later, Akira finds himself in Shinjuku for the first time in his life. At a bar no less, taking a sip of his water as his main source of intel downs another shot of alcohol. He thinks there might be a law somewhere about getting important info out of someone while they’re completely inebriated, but then again he’s also a teenager and Ohya’s the adult here so it’s probably fine.

He takes another sip of his water and pretends it’s something much stronger.

“So...” Ohya slurs, “do you have any info on the Phantom Thieves?”

Of course, even while Ohya is about two drinks away from being completely incoherent, she still has enough sense in her to try to strike a deal. Figures. If he ended up getting arrested for this he was going to file a formal complaint to whatever god was up there laughing at him.

“Are those your terms?”

“Hm… Something like that.”

Before he knows it he’s selling out Mishima as a source of intel. Sorry Mishima, sacrifices needed to be made, and he really was the only one he could think of.

“Junya Kaneshiro," she says finally. “I think he’s probably the guy you’re looking for.”

Akira doesn’t think he quite masks the pure triumph he feels at finally getting a name. Although, considering Ohya’s drunken state, Akira does briefly question the legitimacy of the name she provides. Guess he’d find out for good if the deal he made was worth it tomorrow when they checked the Nav.

Besides, his life is already a complex web of promises and deals. What’s one more to add to the list?

***

_All of Shibuya._

Akira briefly wonders just how fucked up someone has to be to have a palace that literally spans the entire surface area of Shibuya itself. Not a school, not a house, but an entire city. This leads him to thinking about what his own palace would be if he somehow had one. Maybe it’d be a prison, like the velvet room. Or maybe all of Tokyo would turn into some messed up variation of a home, because hell if he ever wanted to go back to that too-big empty house in his hometown.

He ignores the sudden ache in his heart, and focuses on the actual palace surrounding him.

On what was once a perfectly normal Sunday afternoon in Shibuya, now was shaded a sickly green with ATM humans walking the streets like some strange interpretation of zombies.

He hates the way that his hand twitches towards his knife. Wonders if he’s the only one who is getting a little antsy with the desire to rip some poor shadow apart, and he’s too afraid to ask. It’s probably weird to be disappointed that all of the cognitions here are harmless, and there doesn’t seem to be a single shadow to be found.

Instead what they find are ATM humans that are either entirely broken or cowering with so much fear they can’t even get a straight answer out of them. What they get are fragments of a puzzle, one that they don’t get immediately but discover the truth of soon enough.

_They’ve fallen far… From a place where Kaneshiro leaves no tracks._

Kaneshiro’s palace _would_ be a giant floating bank.

There is a buzzing beneath his skin. A quiet anger at the stupidity of all of this, annoyance flaring at the fact that Kaneshiro remains completely out of reach even after all the work they did to find his name and palace location. Just once he’d love to enter a palace with a staircase leading straight to the boss. Just once.

Instead they’re all forced to agree that there’s nothing more that they can do for today. Joker, the leader of this little band of thieves, finds himself once again remaining silent as they make their decision. Sometimes he can’t help but think that he’s a shitty leader, can’t help but think that he’s supposed to be the person to solve these types of roadblocks, hates that he’s just as lost as the rest of them.

“All right,” Mona says, “we should get out of here for now! Run for it!”

And Joker escapes with them, even as there’s a part of him that begs him to turn around and figure things out himself.

***

That night, Akira gets a phone call.

He’s getting ready for bed, body lethargic yet also quietly buzzing with the strange sort of energy he always gets after exploring the Metaverse. When his phone rings he’s expecting maybe Ryuji or even Ann, but instead the name flashing on his screen gives him pause.

“Who is it?” Mona asks, looking up from where he’d been curled up on the bed.

“Akechi.”

“That detective?” Mona sits up, instantly alert. “What does he want?”

Akira ignores his question as he finally answers the phone.

“Kurusu-kun,” Akechi greets immediately, tone pleasant as always. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. Do you have a moment to talk?”

That was certainly ominous. Akira wasn’t sure what exactly Goro Akechi could be calling him about at this time of night, but he had a gut feeling that it had something to do with their conversation in Shibuya.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Hm well, you see I’ve been thinking a great deal since I encountered you and Niijima-san on the street the other day,” Akechi says, confirming Akira’s immediate suspicions. “I suppose by now you already know who that man was working for?”

Akira blinks. Well, he certainly hadn’t been expecting for him to be so bold with his accusations, then again, this _was_ Goro Akechi he was talking to.

“You think we were investigating,” he says more as fact than question, to which Akechi makes an affirmative noise.

“I saw enough to recognize that the meeting was no accident.”

“And you’re only telling me this now?”

“I needed some time to look into things for myself. I at least prefer to not rush headfirst into things,” Akechi says, sounding particularly self-righteous. In the quiet privacy of his own head, Akira calls him an asshole.

“You’re missing out,” Akira says instead, trying to be funny so he can at least pretend his stomach isn’t currently tied in nervous little knots. He had no idea where Akechi was going with this, and there was a warning bell in his head that screamed that Akechi was so much more than he seemed. Call it intuition, but Akira didn’t quite believe the entire Detective Prince shtick he had going on.

“Hm, I sincerely doubt that,” Akechi says pleasantly before his tone turns a tinge more serious. “You are aware that you could have been killed?”

Yes, Akira was aware. No, Akira was not going to answer him seriously.

“Yeah, I’m actually an adrenaline junkie.”

From the other line he hears Akechi deeply exhale, and Akira can almost picture him pinching the bridge of his nose.

Not so unshakably cheerful now, Mr. Detective Prince.

Akira smiles to himself in victory.

“Junya Kaneshiro,” Akechi says after a moment's pause, clearly choosing to ignore Akira’s antics and get to the point. “That’s the name you have, correct?”

All the breath leaves Akira’s lungs in a sudden rush.

“...It might be.”

“I’ve heard some rather troubling things about Kaneshiro,” Akechi continues, oblivious to Akira’s momentary panic at his complete uncertainty of where he was going with all this. He really hoped he wasn’t about to get arrested again. “And I feel that I must warn you that there’s a large possibility that you could be targeted for all the snooping around you’ve been doing.”

Akechi was...warning him? There had to be more he wasn’t saying, right?

“Thanks for the warning,” he says, knowing how it sounds but not knowing what else to say. Sure enough, he hears Akechi give a deep sigh from the other line.

“I figured that wouldn’t stop you,” Akechi says, quickly catching on as Akira should have expected of him. “Very well, if you insist on pursuing him, I can try to lend aid. I am a detective after all. My justice won’t allow someone like Kaneshiro to evade it forever.”

For a moment, Akira isn’t quite sure he heard him right.

“You want to help us?” Akira asks in stark disbelief. At his words Mona almost falls off the bed he jumps up so fast.

“He _what_?”

Akira shushes him and asks, “Can’t you just arrest him yourself?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have enough to go through with a legal arrest,” Akechi says, tone sounding regretful. “For now I find that it would be beneficial if we worked together for a time.”

Akira gives himself a moment to think. There was still something in his gut that was telling him that Akechi was dangerous, and that he should shut him down here and move on with things as planned. But there was another quiet part of him that wanted to trust Akechi. He’s not sure where the feeling came from, but it resonated with an uneasy fear that if he didn’t accept Akechi’s help in this moment, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

Besides, logically, who better to look into a mafia investigation than a Detective? If Akechi had gotten Kaneshiro’s name so quickly, then he no doubt had resources to help them further. And they did need to find a way up into that bank. Any information he had could be crucial.

It’d be stupid to refuse.

“Okay, we could use your help,” he tells him.

“Wonderful,” Akechi says, clearly pleased. “I’d appreciate it if you would notify me the next time you meet. I look forward to working together.”

And with that, he hangs up.

Akira is left staring down at his phone for several moments before finally he turns and dares look at Mona. He’s expecting judgment in his expression, a demand for him to explain himself, but instead he just looks slightly concerned.

“I really hope you know what you’re doing, Akira,” Mona tells him.

Truthfully, Akira never did. But what else was new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually hate Makoto, I swear. But wow that conversation is always so hard to listen to in-game ;;; 
> 
> We're going to be alternating pov's with each chapter so I hope you enjoyed this first Akira chapter I wrote!! Kiva's first Goro chapter is next~


	2. GORO I: Shido and Deal

Despite having seen the clip several times after its dramatic first airing, Goro paid careful attention to the blubbering, snivelling wreck of a man on the screen. In the chilly quiet of Shido’s office, Madarame’s hiccuping confession was uncomfortably loud - every gasp, every sniffle, every gulping choke of air through thick, snotty tears, Goro saw and heard it all, and could only think: _‘how disgusting’._

Eventually the clip ended, cutting away to the newscaster reporting on Madarame’s confession. Shido picked up the remote and immediately muted it.

“Ichiryusai Madarame,” Shido murmured, his tone deceptively mild, “How long has it been since his arrest, Akechi?”

Goro fought the urge to fidget at the trick question. His gaze shifted from the muted television and somewhere past Shido’s left ear. Behind his father, the office window engulfed almost the entire wall, giving a panoramic view of the Tokyo skyline, a glittering sea of lights that drowned out the stars. This late at night, it was beautiful.

 _how much effort would it take to throw him through the glass?_ Goro mused idly, letting the violent fantasy settle his nerves.

“Twelve days, sir,” he answered. 

“Twelve days,” Shido repeated, “Twelve days, Akechi.”

Goro said nothing as Shido leaned back in his seat, the creak and squeak of the leather settling around them like the shifting weight of an overburdened ship. 

“Twelve days of _failure,_ ” Shido finished, his tone still that awful, too calm mild. It put Goro on edge, waiting for the inevitable snap of the tripwire to his father’s explosive anger.

“...as I said before,” Goro said diplomatically, squeezing his fingers hard behind his back, “I’ve narrowed down the suspects as potential students of Shujin-”

“Fucking _high school brats_ shouldn’t be running rings round us!” Shido finally snarled, slamming his fist against his desk. Goro stifled a flinch, “You’re supposed to be my _expert_ on the Metaverse, Akechi, and you’re telling me you didn’t notice _teenagers_ playing _vigilante_ in there!?”

 _i can’t be everywhere at once!_ Goro mentally hissed.

“Considering the near infinite size of the Metaverse-” he began curtly. 

“You were _in_ Madarame’s Palace _weeks_ ago!” Shido interrupted, jabbing an angry finger at him, “Exactly _sixteen_ days ago!”

“...seventeen, sir,” Goro admitted, his face feeling uncomfortably warm at this quiet admission. Failure was a bitter draught he was all too familiar with, but the past two years had spoilt him, success after success buoying him upwards until he floated merrily in the realm of celebrities. As the Detective Prince, he rarely experienced _failure,_ and even less so as Shido’s assassin. His father demanded perfection and results at every turn. 

There was no _room_ for _failure_ in Shido’s vision of the future.

“And you noticed _nothing_ while you were there,” Shido sneered, “Absolutely _nothing._ What’s your excuse, Akechi? What am I fucking _paying_ you for?”

“To eliminate your enemies and remove inconveniences,” Goro replied obediently, fighting the rise of his pulse and his rage. He squeezed his fingers so hard he could feel the joints of his knuckles bend slightly. 

“Right.” Shido pointed at the muted television. “And what’s that, Akechi?”

Goro didn’t look, “An inconvenience, sir.”

“An _inconvenience,_ ” Shido parrotted, “Fuck’s sake.”

Goro waited, but Shido didn’t continue his tirade. His father threw himself back in his seat, turning it away so he faced the window as well. Goro could faintly see his reflection in the glass and fought to keep his expression level as his gaze shifted to the chair, waiting. He hadn’t been dismissed yet. 

_waiting like a loyal dog,_ a nasty voice spat at him, _his downfall better be worth this._

The silence stretched. 

And stretched. 

And-

“I was complacent, sir.” Goro finally caved, unable to stand the frigid silence. “I never expected another person to have access to the Metaverse, so I… never looked. I’m sorry.”

Shido sighed heavily, and with a quiet squeak, his chair turned around to face him again. The anger was gone, replaced with disappointment, like Goro was an ill-trained puppy that made a mess on the carpet despite knowing better. The expression made Goro’s insides crawl. 

“It’s fine,” Shido said, drumming his fingers on his desk as he stared at the television contemplatively, “We can work with this.”

Goro eyed him warily. He never trusted these mood swings.

“We can, sir?”

“The Mental Shutdowns and psychotic breakdowns are attracting considerable public attention, despite my leaning on the media,” Shido began, the non-sequitur quietly alarming, “That will be something I will need to address close to the time of the elections. Can you imagine? Securing the perpetrator of those crimes would be a boost.”

Goro carefully kept his expression blank, his eyelashes fluttering as he fought the urge to blink rapidly. Did he intend to…? He could barely feel his fingers now, his grip white-knuckled on his hand, “Sir?”

“You’re a _detective,_ Akechi, can’t you figure it out?” Shido drawled, amused at his uncertainty, “Except - can you? I forget that your success is mostly a sham.”

Goro bit his tongue hard enough he tasted metal, fixing his lips into a humourless smile. 

“As you say, sir,” he said simply.

“If you become useless as my Metaverse agent, you really have nothing,” Shido reminded him. The words were delivered casually, not even bothering to have the bite of threat. It was all true, after all, and Goro despised it. Without the Metaverse, he was nothing, without being _of use_ in the Metaverse, he was _less_ than _nothing_. He didn’t need fucking _Shido_ reminding him of that fact to his _face._

Goro ground his teeth behind his smile before forcing out a polite acknowledgement of; _“sir.”_

“Let’s see if you have _some_ critical thinking skills. Because of Madarame’s ‘ _change of heart’_ ,” Shido mockingly quoted the popular phrase bandied about by the media, “Kaneshiro will have to pick up the financial slack. Do you know what that will mean?”

Goro unconsciously drew up to attention, seeing an opportunity to redeem himself. He lunged for it like a starving dog begging for treats. 

“Kaneshiro’s criminal activity will increase, which in turn will require leveraging more favours from the SIU to turn a blind eye,” he dutifully explained, “As well as obfuscating evidence and intimidating potential witnesses that may come forward. This will leave a potential footprint that can be traced back to yourself, causing a scandal impossible to recover from.”

“Not _completely_ useless, then,” Shido said mildly, “But you missed one critical thing, Akechi: the SIU _Director_. He already thinks we’re equal, and pleading him for more favours will not disabuse him of that _delusion._ He’s a pawn, an annoyingly _useful_ one, but his life expectancy shrinks the more he demands, you see?”

Goro got the hint. He dipped his head a fraction, his gaze shifting to the desk between them; “...sir.”

Shido waved a dismissive hand at him, “I want you to think on this _fuck up,_ Akechi. Learn from your mistakes and _don’t let it happen again._ We’re not going to be outsmarted by a bunch of stupid brats, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Goro murmured. 

He agreed after all. The only stupid brat outwitting Shido will be _him._

* * *

Goro’s anxious temper had cooled somewhat by the time he returned to his apartment. As always, he was already considering how to manipulate the situation to his advantage, how to turn this unfortunate setback into a _win_ for him, and a loss for Shido. 

Fact: Madarame had been vital as a financier, due to the ease of his money laundering. While the selling of Sayuri knock-offs was toeing the line of legality, Madarame’s reputation and connections in the underground art world and forgers allowed the funds to be clean and relatively free of suspicion when donated to Shido’s cause. No one batted an eye when a reputable artist of Madarame’s caliber offered support to a popular political party, after all. 

Fact: Madarame was mysteriously and supernaturally overcome with an urge to confess his crimes - notably only regarding his forgeries and manslaughter via criminal negligence. Nothing was said about the Conspiracy, despite Madarame having mid-tier access to it. No confessions of funding illicit activities, no confessions of contracting the Conspiracy’s ‘Ghost’ to quietly remove competitors or detractors from his life, and _no confessions_ of the Conspiracy _in general._

It was curious. Was this because the ‘Phantom Thieves’ only knew about his art forgeries and manslaughter? Could they only compel their victims to confess crimes only _they_ knew?

Goro rolled these two facts about his mind as he bustled around his apartment, preparing for another late night of study to catch up on the schoolwork he’d slipped behind. His coffee machine loudly gurgled as he smacked it to start cranking out the most potent espresso it could, peeling off his gloves to gnaw on his thumbnail. A nervous habit he still hadn’t fully trained out of himself. 

So, what did he know? 

That the Phantom Thieves had, for reasons unknown, targeted Madarame, who _just so happened_ to be a main benefactor of Shido’s cause. It was most likely a coincidence, considering their only other victim was a random teacher in Shujin. A blip on the radar that Goro would have been content in ignoring, if they had only targeted random villains that had nothing to do with Shido.

However.

Goro had no idea what they had learned, romping about Madarame’s heart. He recalled Madarame’s Shadow being in love with the sound of its own voice, shamelessly confessing and boasting of its disgusting hubris and crimes to anyone who willingly stopped to listen for more than a few seconds. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if the damned Shadow had subjected the Phantom Thieves to a step by step powerpoint presentation on the Conspiracy itself, or told them about _him,_ the Ghost. 

_the palace is gone now, though,_ Goro thought to himself, _so there’s no way of knowing what Madarame’s Shadow said._

He hated loose ends. 

They were definitely Shujin students, the Phantom Thieves. Goro watched his coffee machine spit out unappetising espresso into his mug, almost biting his thumbnail to the quick. In fact, he already knew who his main suspect was: 

Akira Kurusu. 

Ever since that day in Shibuya where he had spied Kurusu and Niijima foolishly trying to interrogate a Kaneshiro stooge, Goro had mentally shuffled Kurusu into a box called ‘potential inconvenience’. Too many strange circumstances around him adding up into a very guilty picture: he had been targeted by Kamoshida, was seemingly close friends with Kamoshida’s main victims, was observed loitering near Madarame’s atelier in the days leading up to his ‘change of heart’ and _somehow_ became close friends with Madarame’s victim, Yusuke Kitagawa in the process. 

_plus his friend confessed to being a phantom thief at the tv station,_ Goro finished with dark humour. Honestly, that blond was too much of a loudmouth for his own good. 

However, using the evidence of ‘I overheard some dumbass teenagers saying they were Phantom Thieves’ wouldn’t satisfy Shido in the slightest. Teenagers boasted about stupid shit all the time. It wasn’t solid evidence. 

_but, combined with everything else,_ Goro hummed, picking up his espresso and taking a sip of the scalding, bitter drink, _it paints a damning picture._

And now Kurusu was targeting Kaneshiro.

Goro paused at that thought.

Could it be that easy?

Despite exchanging numbers, they hadn’t once called or texted each other. Aside from the occasional greeting at the train station and that coincidental meet up in Shibuya, they barely spoke. Yet, Goro now had an angle to play: if Kurusu _was_ investigating Kaneshiro, then it would only make sense that the friendly, eager-to-please Detective Prince would reach out to offer a helping hand. Using the investigation of Kaneshiro as an excuse, he could observe his prey up close and determine his guilt. 

_keep your friends close, and your enemies…_

If Kaneshiro ended up suffering from a change of heart, then that was acceptable collateral. He could observe the Phantom Thieves’ brainwashing methods from a closer vantage point - could he even worm himself into their escapades, if he dropped hints about knowing of the Metaverse? Yes… _yes,_ Kaneshiro was acceptable collateral in that regard. If it meant Goro could confirm Kurusu’s identity as a Phantom Thief, then he had a card to play with Shido. 

He could keep such information in reserve until he needed to leverage something from his shitty father - there was no point in giving him what he wanted _too_ quickly - and if he gave Shido another headache in the process…?

 _besides, he implied he_ wanted _the phantom thieves to continue,_ Goro meandered to his desk, bracing himself for a long, exhausting night of intense studying; _it's his fault for not specifying which of his pawns were off-limits in that case._

So, it was decided. He’ll call Kurusu and extend a helping hand. If he had any sense, it wouldn’t be slapped away. If it was, well, Goro was persistent and wily. He’ll figure something out. 

_though, who can refuse the ‘Detective Prince’~_ he thought with considerable self-deprecation, sitting at his desk and retrieving his phone. He thumbed through his very sparse contacts to one AKIRA KURUSU. 

“Don’t be difficult now,” he murmured at his target, and hit ‘call’. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm happy to post my first chapter in this big collaborative project i have with pana :3 These first two chapters were the introduction for both Akira and Akechi, so things will pick up pace starting from next week! 
> 
> Please kudos or comment if you enjoyed!


	3. AKIRA II: Kaneshiro

The accessway is absolutely flooded with people.

They mill about or weave in between each other in a hurry to get themselves one place or another. Some of them stand out a little, a brighter shade of hair or clothing that catches the light a certain way. But most of them blend in with each other, like faceless shadows in a palace.

Akira watches them and can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be somebody important. Someone interesting. Sure he was both of those things in the Metaverse, but none of that mattered here. How would it be like to be someone like Akechi: a celebrity who was probably noticed by fans wherever he went. Someone who could be easily spotted through a crowd, who had to be _somebody_ in a sea of nobodies. Akechi didn’t seem to mind the fame from what he’d seen, but somehow Akira still can’t find himself envying him. He preferred his anonymity. Really.

After all, being noticed had never really worked out well for him.

As if summoned by the thought of him alone, Goro Akechi himself materializes from the crowd. They meet eyes for a brief moment, Akechi’s gaze landing on him first before the rest, and the detective prince himself makes his way over to him.

Akira’s not really sure why that alone seems to make his heart rate increase in anticipation. Probably just nerves. He knew why Akechi was here, hadn’t been able to get their phone call out of his head. Which of course wasn’t really boding out well for his already short attention span when it came to what would probably be considered very important phantom thief business.

He’d been playing the contents of the call back in his head like a record, trying to find hints to his motivations or anything that Akira could have possibly missed. There’s something about Akechi that’s just a little too fake, plastic almost, and Akira can’t help but wonder why that is. It’s even there now, the width of his smile not quite matching the fiercely determined look in his eyes. The title of Detective Prince wasn’t going to be handed out to just anybody. He’d earned that title somehow, and considering his latest media craze was about his less than fantastical opinion on the Phantom Thieves, Akira is well aware of the dangerous line he’s walking.

But what was life without a little danger?

“If only we could contact the real Kaneshiro…” Yusuke says seconds before he trails off as Akechi makes his final few steps to join their little group.

Apparently the others had still been lamenting the fact that no one had a good game plan on how to get into Kaneshiro’s palace. What they didn’t know yet was that Akira’s answer to their problems had just walked up to them with his newsworthy smile and ever-present briefcase of secrets. He’s still in his uniform, minus the jacket, white dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It doesn't escape Akira’s notice that Ann, Ryuji and Yusuke all straighten a bit at his presence, trading nervous looks with each other. If Akechi notices he doesn’t give any indication, only turns to address them all with one of his famous newsworthy smiles.

“I heard you needed help investigating Kaneshiro,” Akechi says immediately to the group in lieu of an actual greeting, inserting himself into the conversation like a true professional. Akira finds himself a little envious on how his smile doesn’t even twitch when his comment is met with several blank stares.

“Wait what?!” Ann blurts, being the first one to break the semi-awkward silence.

“And just how do you know that?” Ryuji adds, stepping forward and pinning Akechi with a very suspicious look. “You been _spyin’_ on us?”

Akira chooses not to mention the fact that considering they were discussing things very loudly in the middle of a crowded accessway, any number of people could have been _spying_ on them with very little effort. Of course Akira was well aware of this, but he also liked to think of it as hiding in plain sight. It maybe wasn’t the most logical place for a Phantom Thief hideout, but the accessway did have a certain degree of charm to it.

“I asked him for help,” Akira quickly interjects instead, earning three surprised looks from his friends and one slightly exasperated one from Akechi. Akira doesn’t have to try hard to clue into the fact that Akechi had probably thought he’d have told the rest of the group about their new alliance. And okay, Akira probably should have, but in his defense he did have a lot on his mind.

As that information sinks in, Ryuji takes it upon himself to be the first one to voice his opinion, his shock fading into something that resounds with half confusion and half betrayal. “The police ain’t got a clue,” he says. “How’s this pretty boy gonna help where those guys can’t?”

The moment the words leave his mouth Akira knows it’s not going to go over well. There’s a silent dread that hits him, a feeling similar to when he’d accidentally say something sarcastic during one of his parent’s fancy social dinners, and he’d spend the rest of the night waiting for the consequences. All false smiles and forced laughter as they tried to smooth over his behavior, a flawless display of calm before the storm. But unlike his parents, Akechi doesn't make him wait. There’s an almost immediate stiffening of his shoulders as he turns to Ryuji with an overly saccharine smile that sends a shiver down Akira’s spine.

“Well, I have my ways,” Akechi says icily. “I’ll proceed with my investigation now.”

Before any of them have a chance to say another word, he turns on his heel and briskly walks away.

They watch him as he leaves. Akira is a little tempted to call Ryuji an idiot because if Akechi did know who they were and hadn’t been about to arrest them before, he sure was going to now. Not that Akira particularly thought that this was all one big ploy in selling them out, considering that there were probably easier ways for him to do that. Still, Akira’s parents might actually kill him if he managed to get arrested again, and he wasn’t exactly ready to die just yet.

“Ryuji...” Ann says as Akechi disappears from sight into the crowd of surrounding people. She seems to be about to say something more but then she stops herself, and instead just looks at him in disappointment.

As per usual, Ann’s disapproval is very effective.

“Hey what’re you lookin’ at me like that for!?” Ryuji says in clear panic. “I only said the truth. We don’t need his help, man.”

This time he turns to address Akira in an obvious plea for him to back him up. Akira hesitates, not entirely sure how he should respond. In truth, they all probably could have figured another less dangerous method of getting into Kaneshiro’s palace if given a little more time, and Akira telling Ryuji that he agreed to Akechi’s offer because of a _gut feeling_ probably wouldn’t really attest to his amazing leadership skills.

Luckily, Morgana being his absolute best friend in the entire world, saves him from having to answer.

“We’re trying to convert him to our side so we have a sympathizer with the police,” Morgana says, surprising Akira with how logical that sounded. He’s almost entirely sure that Morgana is actually the leader at this point and Akira himself is just the real world Monabus. His schoolbag might not have a leather interior, but he made do with what he had.

“Having someone on the inside might be helpful…” Yusuke adds, still looking at the spot Akechi had vanished with a thoughtful expression.

“Yeah, and he really doesn’t seem like that bad of a guy,” says Ann in agreement, leaving only one who was still against it.

They all turn to look at Ryuji who visibly deflates.

“Ugh, fine,” he says, knowing he’s been outnumbered. “Maybe we could use his help.”

“Exactly,” Morgana chimes in, sounding smug to have successfully persuaded the group. “About time you saw reason.”

Ryuji shoots him a look and seems to be about to argue when Ann interrupts.

“Come on guys,” she says, stepping away from her spot at the wall, “we have to go after him.”

It’s only then that it strikes Akira how much time they were wasting. Akechi wasn’t stupid, but he wouldn’t exactly put it past him to do something rash if he really was under the impression that he had to do all this alone. That or he would end up running to the police, which really wasn’t that much better.

All probably having the same line of thinking, no one says anything as they run after Ann as she leads them through the station and back out on the streets of Shibuya. They have nothing to go off of besides the general direction that he disappeared in, and that quickly proves to not be all that helpful. Apparently Akechi could walk very fast when he wanted to, because even as Akira scans the surrounding crowds for any sign of him, he’s nowhere to be found.

Even so, they continue to follow the main crowds the best that they can, Akira continuously checking for a familiar head of golden-brown hair. Funny that only a short while ago he was thinking about how Akechi was someone who always stood out from a crowd, and now here they were trying to pick him out of one like a needle in a haystack. Akira’s just starting to feel a certain degree of hopelessness set in when his phone rings, and somehow he just _knows_ it’s going to be Akechi, even before the name flashing on his phone screen confirms it.

“Akechi-” Akira says immediately as he answers, the hammering of his heart increasing despite the fact he’s no longer running. Akechi cuts him off before he can get another word out.

“Stay on the line please.”

There’s a bit of muffled shuffling as if Akechi has shoved his phone into one of his pockets. At the questioning looks of his friends, Akira mouths _Akechi_ before putting his phone on speaker so they all can hear.

They’re left with silence for a few moments before Akechi’s voice finally makes its way through the line again, a little muffled and yet not enough to be difficult to hear.

“Hello,” Akechi says, tone stiff. “I would like to arrange a meeting with your boss Kaneshiro.”

That quiet flicker of dread alights in Akira’s stomach again. He has a very bad feeling about this.

“And you’re comin’ to Central Street for that?” Responds a voice that Akira immediately recognizes as the Suspiciously Sleazy Guy he’d talked to with Makoto the other day. “Just who the hell are you?”

“Goro Akechi-”

Whatever he says after that is a mystery as the line suddenly gets even more muffled to the point that Akira can’t make out what he’s saying.

“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” Ryuji asks, to his credit at least trying to keep his voice low. Ann immediately shushes him anyway.

“Yeah aight, we’ll take you to him,” a new unfamiliar man’s voice says as the audio clears up again. “But you better not be full of shit, or you’ll be sorry.”

“I can assure you that won’t be the case,” Akechi says, not sounding the slightest bit shaken.

And with that, the line goes dead.

“He hung up!?” Ann says, staring at Akira’s phone with widened eyes. Akira’s pretty sure he’s mirroring her expression. He can’t help but wonder if he could have done more, maybe tracked the call or something, not as if he had any idea how to do that. Still, his heart won’t stop its frenzied tempo and he’s left without the slightest idea of what to do in this situation. Some leader he was.

“Dammit!” Ryuji curses.

“That guy said Central Street,” Mona speaks up, once again proving to be the smartest one out of all of them. “Come on let’s hurry!”

Things happen very quickly after that.

They run as fast as they can through the crowds to make it to Central Street. And yet, even with as much as they hurry, they’re only able to make it in time to see an all black car turn off the street and onto the main road. It’s thanks to Yusuke’s quick eye that they manage to get the license plate number, and then Ryuji nearly kills himself in his rush to stop a cab.

It’s not until Akira is sitting with the rest of them in the back of the taxi that he finally has a moment to check his phone again.

When he does, he’s greeted with one single message from Akechi, sent only a minute after he ended the call.

 **Akechi:** I’ll contact you again when I’m done. I can handle things from here.

Akira doesn’t answer. Doesn’t know how to answer. He’s a melting pot of a thousand different emotions and he won’t allow himself to express a single one, not now. No he’d sort through and deal with them later, for now he just needed to focus on the mission.

Still, it doesn’t escape Akira’s notice that Akechi doesn’t even seem to consider that they might be concerned about his safety or that they might go after him.

Well, then he was about to be in for a surprise.

***

Near the end of their little license-plate-tracking adventure, they lose sight of the car. There’s momentary panic, the fear settling in that they might be too late and soon enough Goro Akechi’s name is going to be flashing across TV broadcasts and newspaper headlines as the Detective Prince who suddenly vanished. Or worse, turned up dead somewhere. That would make this all Akira’s fault for getting Akechi involved in the first place.

Akira tries not to think too hard about that.

Still the thought won’t leave his head for as much as he tries to shove it down, and it’s when Akira’s in the middle of his silent panic that Yusuke, with his very impressive visual eye, ends up once again spotting the car they’d been tracking. It’d only been a few minutes since they’d lost sight of it, and it’s sitting inconspicuously parked on the side as if it was any old car.

They get the taxi driver to pull over, and they all rush out from the cab. Akira’s the only one who stays behind to quietly slide the driver his fare with the addition of a tip that he hopes will be enough for him to keep quiet about what was probably one of the strangest drives of his life. Or, if they all end up dead then maybe the guy could say a few nice things about the rambunctious group of teenagers he drove in his cab that one time who tipped him really well. The taxi driver gives him a small nod and thanks him before Akira leaves the car, so he thinks that could be a good sign.

It’s only when he exits the cab that he joins the thieves in actually taking a good look at the house the car was parked in front of. It essentially looks like any old house. If anything it’s noticeably very dirty and unkempt, but not exactly anything unusual when compared to the other houses lining the street. It’s a little anticlimactic honestly. Akira was thinking more along the lines of a giant penthouse, or maybe some kind of mansion with guards stationed all around it. Then again, the mafia probably wouldn’t be as secret if their hideout was a stand-out building with neon signs pointing to the fact that it was in fact the very-secret-mafia hideout. Still, it would have been a bit more exciting.

“Hey guys, do you think that’s one of them?” Ann says keeping her voice quiet as she points to a little way away where Suspiciously Sleazy Guy himself is leaning against the wall talking to some girl. Luckily for them, he seems to be very engrossed with his conversation and is facing the opposite direction, so he hasn’t spotted them yet. Still, Akira takes it upon himself to confirm her suspicions and quickly leads them to all quickly hide behind the side of the very inconspicuous house.

Akira leans up against the side wall, probably hopelessly dirtying his clothes in the process. The walls were probably at some point in time painted a bright white, but now the true color was stained gray-brown. Kaneshiro clearly wasn’t overly concerned with cleaning. Akira’s parents would have fainted from sheer horror if they’d seen a house in this kind of condition. Here he’d thought Leblanc had been bad.

“It does not seem as if anyone is still in the car,” Yusuke says, peaking out at the street from behind the wall. .

“Should we uh, try to go through the front door?” Ryuji asks.

“No, you moron,” Mona hisses, “it’d be best if we could find a window or something.”

“Well I don’t see any windows around here, do you?” Ryuji shoots back, raising his voice as he seems to forget they’re supposed to be keeping their voices down. That or in his head he _was_ still being quieter than usual, which somehow Akira thinks could very well be possible.

“Guys, would you please be quiet!?” Ann snaps while keeping her voice hushed.

Both Morgana and Ryuji instantly look like scolded children, which Akira would find funny if he wasn’t currently dealing with a little unpleasant ball of anxiety that was sitting unhelpfully in his stomach. He’s not really sure why he’s so nervous, he never got like this in the Metaverse no matter what position they were in, and yet here he was silently regretting that bread roll he had for lunch.

Not that he’d ever tell anyone that. He’s just thankful no one has caught onto him.

“Perhaps there is a back entrance,” Yusuke says, as he makes his way back over to the group after abandoning his prior position of watching the street.

Akira nods in agreement. It seems like as good a plan as any, and they needed to move before they got caught anyway.

“It’s a good place to start,” Akira says aloud before heading to the back of the house. He doesn’t need to say anything else for the others to quickly shadow him.

Akira halts at the end of the small alleyway, the full expanse of the area behind the house now in sight. He takes in the area ahead, checking for guards and the like, and his gaze lands on a large form on the ground in front of the back door. At first he thinks someone abandoned a mannequin, but the longer he looks the more it becomes clear that it is not in fact a mannequin.

“Is that a dead body!?” Ann shrieks, luckily remembering to cover her mouth so that her outburst doesn’t immediately attract the attention of everyone in the area.

And well, it definitely appears to be a body, but Akira sure hopes it’s not a dead one. Maybe they just passed out or fell asleep or something. Still Akira is slightly concerned. Okay, very concerned. He never signed up for this.

After exchanging nervous glances with one another, they go in to take a closer look.

The first thing Akira notices is that the man is dressed similarly to the guy they’d spoken with the other day. If Akira had to take a wild guess, it’s possible that he was the other voice that he’d heard when Akechi had them listen into his conversation. Since besides Akechi, Akira had definitely picked out two separate voices and only one so far was accounted for.

This assumption is backed by the fact that the man turns out to be very much still alive, just with what looks like a massive bump on his forehead. As if he’d been hit over the head with something. Like a briefcase. Akira doesn’t want to automatically assume that, but he does anyway.

It is at least an immediate comfort that the man’s still alive and they’re not dealing with a sudden dead body, and yet that kind of relief also says a lot about the situation Akira’s managed to get himself into.

“Do you think Akechi’s okay?” Ann asks quietly, looking at the house with a worried frown pulling at her lips.

Akira doesn’t exactly know how to break it to her that the body on the ground probably means that Akechi is doing more than okay. On an almost frightening sort of level. Were all detectives this skilled in taking down guards twice their weight, or did Akechi have some martial arts training that he should know about?

Now that he was thinking of it, why was it that he had never taken the time to research Goro Akechi before? Knowing Akechi, if he did have special training he would have “subtly” mentioned it in at least three separate interviews. Would have tried to act modest even as he soaked up the praise like a small bird proudly puffing out its feathers.

“You okay man?” Ryuji asks, startling Akira out of his thoughts.

“Huh, yeah why?”

Ryuji frowns, looking a bit confused. “You’re standing over a body and smilin’ to yourself, it’s kinda freaking me out a little.”

Oh, right.

“No I wasn’t,” Akira responds like the master of deceit he is, and quickly steps over the body to enter the building. He swears he’s well versed in subterfuge. Really. So what if the door creaks a little too loudly when he opens it and they all end up walking into the house single file in the same way kids would walk into their grade school classrooms.

At least in the Metaverse they were still cool.

There’s another man on the floor not far from where they enter. He’s pretty easy to notice since, unlike the one outside, he’s still conscious. Not unharmed though, considering he’s crumpled up on the floor and clutching at his arm in clear pain. It’s bent at an odd angle and looks like it’s probably dislocated. Meanwhile, the very strong mafia man seems at a loss of what to do and has apparently decided that sitting on the ground and crying is his best possible option at the moment.

The man visibly flinches as soon as he notices them all staring.

“What, more kids?” He says like a truly broken man. “Just leave me alone, I don’t want no part of this.”

Akira shares a look with the others. He’s not really sure how his day keeps getting more weird by the minute, but yet here they were. Ryuji offers him a shrug.

“That other kid,” Ann says, stepping forward. “Where did he go?”

“The elevator,” the guy answers her a little too quickly.

He then gestures over to where there is very much an elevator. An elevator in the middle of a very mundane and ordinary looking house. The house’s interior is a little messy, sure. There are bags tossed around and the tables are littered with magazines and other things that Akira doesn’t want to look too closely at, but there’s nothing that absolutely screams _wealth_. So, there is absolutely no doubt in Akira’s mind that Kaneshiro had an elevator installed in his very inconspicuous house just because he thought he was _too good_ for stairs. Akira hasn’t even met him yet and already he knows he’s an insufferable asshole. Well, that and the fact he’s the leader of a mafia group that’s exploiting teenagers. ...That’s probably slightly worse than having an elevator.

They leave the guy to his no-good-very-bad day on the floor and all head towards the elevator. Akira’s the one who presses the button on the panel to the side, and a few moments later the doors open with a very cheerful _ding_.

And of course, there just so happens to be a man standing there who looks equally as surprised to see them as they do him. “Who’re yous?” The guy asks them.

It doesn’t escape Akira’s notice that this guy is coming from the very place that Akechi apparently went, and yet was looking very much unharmed. Which really meant one of three things: either the underground floor was big enough for him to not have noticed a young detective with a vendetta, Akechi had already been taken care of somehow, or the man had been dismissed by Kaneshiro himself.

Akira was really hoping for the latter.

Still as his mind processes all this information, Akira finds himself saying the very first thing that comes to mind in response to the guy’s question.

“Wait…this isn’t Big Bang Burger,” Akira states blandly, and from his bag he hears Morgana groan.

For a moment, the man only stares.

“Akira, go low!” Ryuji calls suddenly from behind him.

Akira ducks just as Ryuji practically launches himself over him in a stunning display of athletic power and slams his fist into the poor unsuspecting man’s face. It instantly knocks the guy to the ground, and he doesn’t move again as unconsciousness takes him.

Leave it to Ryuji to have his back in this. Teamwork at its finest, as if they’d just pulled off a perfect baton pass in the Metaverse.

Akira turns to Ryuji and gives him a high five for his effort.

“Ugh Ryuji, was that really necessary?” Ann asks, clearly not as impressed as Akira as she shoots Ryuji an accusatory look.

“We passed by two downed dudes already, not like they’re even gonna notice,” Ryuji says casually in explanation, rolling out his shoulder muscle while looking very satisfied with himself, “Sides’ we have to find Akechi and he was in our way.”

“Still…” Ann says, not really having an argument yet looking very uncomfortably at the body that Akira has to step over to enter the elevator. The rest of them follow him in, and eventually Ann joins them, standing as far away from the body in the middle of the floor as she can.

There’s only one down arrow on the panel, indicating there’s only one basement level, so Akira presses that and slowly the doors close and the elevator starts its descent.

It’s a short ride down, and when the doors open it’s to reveal an interior that Akira finds much more fitting for a mafia boss. The atmosphere is more akin to a club, bathed in overtly loud blues and purples that’s a little jarring on the eyes. From behind him Yusuke lets out a very disgusted sounding inhale of breath.

They step out of the elevator and into a small hallway. There are a few doors off to the side, some of which have loud music and sounds of talking, but it’s the door sitting at the very end of the hall that stands out the most. Ornate and lavish, and entirely the type of door a guy who wanted an elevator installed would have made for his weird mafia club dungeon.

Akira shares a collective nod with his friends before they all hurry down the hall together. The door isn’t locked, and when Akira pushes it open the scene ahead of him is not exactly what he expected.

For one the room is large, much larger than he anticipated.

Two they certainly found Akechi, but he doesn’t seem to be in any danger whatsoever.

Instead, Goro Akechi looms over the mafia boss Kaneshiro himself with a certain type of unspoken threat and silent danger that has Kaneshiro sinking lower in his seat.

A silent thrill travels across Akira’s nerve endings at the sight, hitting him with a sensation similar to how he feels when he’s in the Metaverse. As if he’s in a pool with a faint current of electricity, the threat of death lingering in the shallows but the thrill of the deep a little too tempting to pass up.

Akira suddenly finds himself a little hot under the collar. His heart is racing with a degree to excitement that he doesn't want to analyze too thoroughly, and he does his best to shove it down with the rest of the emotions he felt today that he’d need to deal with another time. Add unhealthy attraction to danger to his list of things he’d need to research later.

“Akechi!” Akira calls out to him, finally finding his voice again.

Akechi stiffens at the call of his name, going still for a brief moment before he finally turns to them with his signature overly pleasant smile.

“Oh, Kurusu-kun!” Akechi addresses him directly, as if he doesn’t see the rest of Akira’s friends standing there in shock. “What are you doing here?”

Akira isn’t quite sure what to say to that. Wasn’t it clear they were here to rescue him? And yet Akechi didn’t seem like he was in need of a rescue.

Akira’s about to tell Akechi they’re here for him anyway, when the tell-tale sound of a picture being taken on a phone halts his words. Akechi instantly stills at the sound, meeting Akira’s eyes with something that might be panic, before they simultaneously turn towards Kaneshiro.

Kaneshiro waves his phone at them, displaying the picture he’d just taken. He’d gotten pretty decent framing on all of them, Akechi standing front and center with Akira and the rest of the Phantom Thieves looking like a poorly designed album cover in the background. Besides the fact that the room itself is meant to look like a club, there’s also the added bonus of Kaneshiro having alcohol and drugs all over the room because apparently the guy has never cleaned up after himself in his life.

Suffice to say, the picture doesn’t look great.

“Oh ho ho, now ain’t this a sight!” Kaneshiro says, finally straightening up in his seat and looking far too smug. “Tokyo’s sweetheart Detective Prince boozing it up in a place like this! Whatever will your fans think?”

Akira practically feels the blood drain from his face at the implication of his words, but Akechi’s expression gives away nothing.

“What do you want?” Akechi asks, voice like stone.

Kaneshiro seems to consider his answer slowly like the disgusting asshole he is. After a moment he turns to the very gaudy woman who’s been sitting next to him looking very unimpressed with everything going on.

“Hmm that bag you saw the other day-the crocodile one,” Kaneshiro says to her. “How much was it?”

“About three million,” she says.

He hands her the money, before then going off about being upset about that said loss of money like an absolute psychopath. Continues on into some tirade that Akira could quite frankly care less about. Akira instead finds himself watching Akechi who hasn’t seemed to move a single muscle since this whole thing started, to the point that Akira’s starting to get a little worried.

“Three million yen,” Kaneshiro finally says, getting to the point after whatever the hell else he’d been saying. “I don’t think that should be such a problem for a _celebrity_ like you, am I right? And I don’t think I have to tell you not to go running to the police, do I, _Detective Prince?_ ”

Akira hates the way that he addresses Akechi. It slithers unpleasantly on his skin and he barely represses his urge to shudder. To drag Akechi away and get as far from here as possible. Akira was going to need a shower when he got home.

Still, somehow Akechi seems completely unaffected. As if he’d shut down. As if he was used to situations like this.

Akira really doesn’t like that thought.

“You’ll get your money,” Akechi says flatly.

“Good,” Kaneshiro says with an ugly smirk as he relaxes back into his seat. “I’m glad that we have an understanding. You have three weeks. Bring three million yen by then. No less.”

“Of course,” Akechi says, before he finally turns to them. “Let’s go.”

Without waiting to see if they were going to follow, Akechi strides past them and through the door to the room. Akira trades an uneasy look with the others, before they make their way after him.

As they leave there’s a quiet dread forming in the pit of his stomach. Akechi had known what he’d been doing, he’d never been in need of saving. Not from this.

And them interfering as they did only served to get him into trouble.

Well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things should really start picking up from here on out~  
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated!!


	4. GORO II: Hoodwinked

Useless, _stupid,_ **piece of shit-**

“Hey, Akechi-!”

-ignorant, moronic, _bumbling-_

“Geeze, how fast can this guy _walk!?”_

-god damn **_idiots!_ **

“ _Akechi!”_

Goro stopped abruptly, fighting the urge to snort like a charging bull as he crushed his simmering rage into something less volatile, more _fossilised,_ ready to be excavated at a later date - hopefully in a more controlled setting like Kaneshiro’s Palace where he'll _beat the shit out of his_ **_pathetic Shadow._ **

He allowed himself a brief moment of vindictive daydreaming. Yes. He’ll make him _suffer._

“...my apologies. I wished to put some space between us and Kaneshiro before we spoke,” he said, his expression feeling a lot more _human_ as he pivoted neatly on his heel to face the morons. They were clustered before him like sheepish ducklings, looking a little out of their depth. God, they _were_ out of their depth! Recklessly charging into Kaneshiro’s hideout - a _mafia hideout -_ like that to, what, _save him?_ When he had everything well under control!?

 _well, they didn’t know that, did they?_ His withered conscience whispered, _it was nice they cared enough to come._

No, it wasn’t. It was _troublesome._ He could’ve browbeaten that quivering lump of _meat_ into submission with just a few choice words and a reminder of his _place_ in this Conspiracy. But of course, the Phantom _Idiots_ bumbled in before he had a chance to reveal that and now… _now…!_

If Shido heard about those photos, Goro was done. Oh, certainly, Shido would make them _disappear_ and Kaneshiro will never think to blackmail him again - but Goro may as well take a long walk off a long pier in that scenario. It couldn’t come to pass, Shido will not _tolerate_ a blunder that dire. He’ll also ask _questions_ as to _why_ he was intimidating Kaneshiro in his free time, without being ordered to, and when hearing it was Goro's attempt to take initiative, the mockery, the _disappointment_ \- 

A mess. This had turned into a _mess!!!_

“That was quite the reckless thing you all did,” Goro continued, pushing onwards when he noticed Takamaki about to open her mouth, “Kaneshiro is a dangerous man. You could’ve been hurt.”

“Dude, what about you?” Sakamoto snapped, agitatedly tapping his foot against the ground, “We were worried about you, man, vanishing like that with those creeps!”

“Y-Yeah!” Takamaki quickly picked up the momentum Sakamoto built up. “Your call went dead and we thought, you know, you could’ve been hurt and…” 

“Wasn’t it reckless of you too?” Kurusu questioned quietly. 

“Indeed. It’s somewhat hypocritical for you to scold us for this,” Kitagawa added. 

Goro felt a little ganged up on. It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed, and fought hard to keep the scowl off his face. He ended up looking slightly pained instead, biting the inside of his cheek to stem the urge to spit out a venomous curse at their self-righteous pity. They just wanted to play hero - they didn’t care about him in the slightest. Sakamoto called him useless not even an hour ago! 

“ _I_ knew what I was doing,” Goro said evenly, finding himself uncertain of which persona to wear. He couldn’t play sweetheart Prince here, but neither did he want the mask to slip to expose the frigid chill underneath, “I am a _detective_ , after all.”

“You’re the same age as us!” Sakamoto scoffed.

Goro let his mind detach from the conversation for a brief moment, barely holding back the reply of: ' _age doesn’t matter when it comes to being_ **_dangerous_** _.'_

Instead he said; “It no longer matters. Kaneshiro has the upper hand now.”

“Um,” Takamaki began awkwardly, “Akechi, couldn’t you go to the police? Like you said, you’re a detective so… you found where Kaneshiro is, so couldn’t you arrest him now? And you have evidence of him blackmailing and everything, so you can make it stick!”

“I could,” Goro said agreeably, letting a plastic smile twist his mouth, “If I didn’t care to continue my internship with the SIU.” 

“Internship…?” Takamaki frowned in confusion. 

“I’m not gainfully employed like my adult co-workers,” Goro explained, calming his thundering blood pressure with a mental litany of injuries he was going to crush Kaneshiro’s Shadow under later, “My arrangement with the SIU is to act as a media liaison of sorts, which is why I have so many television appearances under the epithet of ‘Detective Prince’. If they realise I allowed myself to be trapped in such a compromising position with Kaneshiro, _and_ if it became public due to those photographs…?”

“Shit,” Sakamoto muttered, realising the problem instantly. 

“So, to maintain your position and reputation, you will need to capitulate to Kaneshiro’s demands,” Kitagawa murmured, “But to collect three _million_ yen...?”

Three million yen was nothing. Shido pissed that much away and more on a night out with his co-conspirators. In fact, Goro was fairly certain the bank account Shido gave him to maintain his Detective Prince persona contained triple that amount. However, no matter how little three million yen was to Shido, he would undoubtedly question Goro on withdrawing that much in such a short time frame without advanced notice. 

Not of that any of that mattered. Goro would sooner eat shit than give in to Kaneshiro’s demands. That mafia boss was a dead man walking. 

_but, i can’t kill him with a mental shutdown or a psychotic episode. shido will know it was me in an instant,_ Goro mused, his gaze settling on Kurusu, _unless…_

Right. This was actually… an _opportunity._

“I can afford it,” Goro said, softening up his expression and allowing a hint of vulnerability to creep into it. It made him want to gut himself, but he endured the humiliation as he lowered his gaze with a quiet sigh, “Ah, well, _mostly_ …” 

“Mostly?” Kurusu predictably asked. 

Goro stifled a smile. 

“As I said, I have an _internship._ It’s not a paying job,” he murmured, idly tucking a lock of hair behind his ear as he lifted his gaze, “I am given a minor fee for my public appearances at the TV station and on radio shows, but that money is mostly used on my apartment and utility bills, amongst other things. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I don’t actually have that much money.”

He gave a small, helpless shrug, the sort the eternally impoverished were used to doling out when asked how they survived in this capitalist nightmare. Goro vividly remembered his mother doing it often when musing over their rent and food bills, in the months before she died. 

“I have enough saved to pay off Kaneshiro’s blackmail,” he continued, “But we all know it won’t stop at three million yen. He will continuously ask for more until we’re all bled dry.”

“But, what about your…” Takamaki trailed off, as if realising that out of the group, she was the only one with a socially acceptable family setup, “Er, I mean... your parents...?”

The moment teetered for a taut second, Goro mentally rifling through the myriad of responses to that minefield of a question. In interviews, Goro always neatly sidestepped the topic of his parents, and with Shido having such a heavy hand on the media the interviewers knew to avoid those dangerous waters. He was also aware that Shido had arranged for his public records to be adjusted, fake names squatting underneath the labels of 'Father' and 'Mother', as it would have been borderline impossible for Goro to reach such popular heights otherwise. As if his adoring _fans_ would swoon over some unwanted orphan clawing his way out of the trash heap society so easily threw him into. No, he couldn't expose himself like that just yet.

Yet, compromises needed to be made in this little game he ensnared himself in. The moment teetered for that taut second... and Goro made his decision. 

"My parents are not around," he said carefully, lowering his gaze so he didn't have to see the disgusting pity on their faces, "Not in a way to be of... help."

The awkward silence that swept in on the heels of that vague statement suffocated them. He let the Phantom Thieves stew a bit, the sheepish shuffling of feet and side-glances, and looked up to study Kurusu's expression - who met and held it with an intensity that made him feel flayed open. 

Did he see through him? Probably. Kurusu was fascinatingly astute, yet so quiet and reserved. It was difficult to guess the twist and turns of his mind. Goro felt a little disappointed that his sad, pathetic sob story didn’t garner more than a blink from Kurusu’s impassive poker face. He had a passing, yet oddly overpowering urge to strike him, if only to get a _reaction,_ some sort of _acknowledgement_. 

“So,” Kurusu said after a strange pause, where the world stopped existing in that eternal, electrified moment between them, “If we don’t do something, you’re ruined.”

“That’s the gist of it, yes,” Goro said bluntly. 

“Maybe…” Sakamoto muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he gave Kurusu a meaningful look, “I mean, s’kinda our fault, so…”

The group all exchanged secretive looks. Goro somehow managed not to roll his eyes at how obvious they were. 

“Yes?” he prompted impatiently, “You have a solution?”

“You gotta promise not to report us,” Sakamoto continued when Kurusu gave him a tiny, barely there nod, “Y’see, we were investigatin’ Kaneshiro because we're-”

“You’re the Phantom Thieves,” Goro finished. 

“-the Pha- _what?!”_

“Huh!?” Takamaki squawked immediately after, with Kurusu and Kitagawa stiffening up in surprise. Goro also thought he heard a muffled yowl of _“he knew!?”_ but he had no idea where it came from. He frowned in confusion, glancing around him. 

“Y-Y-You knew?!” Sakamoto parroted the disembodied voice, drawing Goro’s attention back, “How- _when!?”_

“Since the TV Station,” Goro said, deciding to give this ‘honesty’ thing a try, “Your voice is not quiet, Sakamoto-kun. _Like now._ ”

Sakamoto’s mouth snapped shut, looking more than a little pole-axed. 

“If you knew, then why haven’t you reported us to the authorities? Did you not publicly declare your opposition to us?” Kitagawa questioned him shrewdly. Out of the gaggle of idiots, Goro mentally ranked Kitagawa second beneath Kurusu in terms of ‘threat’. 

“Because the only evidence I had at the time was ‘I overheard a group of teenagers confess from around the corner’,” Goro said pointedly, “Unless I wanted to be _laughed_ out of the police station, I would need something far more substantive before putting forth my case.” 

“Which is why you reached out to me,” Kurusu said grimly. Aways fast on the uptake, that one. 

“Mm, I admit, I had ulterior motives,” Goro murmured, “However, I was speaking the truth when I said I wished to help investigate Kaneshiro. If, at the same time, I was able to observe the Phantom Thieves’ idea of justice as well, then that was two birds with one stone.”

“You were planning on backstabbing us?” Sakamoto demanded, his expression turning stormy, “What the eff?!”

“I wasn’t going to _backstab_ you,” Goro lied through his teeth, crossing his arms in an open show of defensiveness, “I merely wished to…”

He trailed off. Bit his bottom lip for a moment as his gaze slid to the side. 

_(he deserved an oscar for this)_

“...I’m aware of the failings within our justice system,” he murmured softly, so quietly the Phantom Thieves had to lean in slightly to hear, “While I cannot condone vigilantism, I have to admit that what you have done so far hasn’t been entirely… wrong. You are following a form of justice that has brought punishment to those who otherwise would have escaped it, protected as they were by the corrupt mechanisms of society.” 

The group absorbed this for a moment. 

Predictably, Sakamoto began to act smug, “Heheh, so, you’re sayin’ that we were right after all?” 

Goro huffed, “Not with that attitude.”

“Don’t mind him,” Kurusu said quickly, acutely sensing the danger of Goro’s fraying temper, “Right or wrong, we want to help you. We _can_ help you.”

“Yeah!” Takamaki cheered, “We can change Kaneshiro’s heart! If we do, he’ll drop the blackmail for sure.” 

“At the very least, he will confess his crimes himself,” Kitagawa mused, “This will make it easier for the police to take him into custody without implicating you in any way.” 

Now came the tricky part. Goro was quiet for a moment, internally weighing the pros and cons of his next move. He could play ignorant about the Metaverse, but he didn’t want to simulate a false awakening, as amusing as that could be. So, how should he… 

“Change his heart,” he repeated, “How will you go about this? I must confess, I’m curious about the mechanism of it.” 

“Well, heh, we go into the Metaverse and-” Sakamoto began, only to be aggressively shushed by Takamaki. 

“Ahah, he means, we, uh, just do stuff!” Takamaki said loudly and awkwardly, her acting offensively abhorrent enough that Goro unconsciously grimaced, “And then the heart is changed! Nothing weird or supernatural about it!”

"...right," Goro said after a painfully long pause where he and the rest of the Phantom Thieves stared at Takamaki in shared disbelief.

"Dude, learn how to act!" Sakamoto hissed from the side of his mouth, trying - and failing - to be discreet, "You're makin' us look more suspicious!"

"I am not!" Takamaki squawked in outrage, "You were going to make us sound crazy by talking about treasures and stuff! I had to say something!"

Goro sensed an argument brewing that would serve to do nothing but make him want to shoot himself (or them), so he quickly intervened before they could build up steam.

"There's no need to tell me your trade secret if it makes you uncomfortable. I understand that I am just an outsider," Goro said, inserting enough rejected sadness in his voice to make even the coldest of hearts wilt. Takamaki and Sakamoto guiltily shuffled in place.

"It might be easier to just show you," Kurusu said abruptly.

Goro was taken so off guard at this all he managed was a; "huh?"

The others echoed him, Sakamoto blustering with: "You sure, 'kira? What if he freaks and runs to the police?"

"He won't," Akira said confidently, holding his stare with Goro. There was a glitter of challenge in his eyes, a hint of _‘i’m onto you’._ Or was that just Goro’s paranoia talking?

 _just what are you thinking?_ Goro wondered, feeling his pulse pick up a few beats at the looming tension of being caught, of circling someone who may, in fact, be his equal in this game of subterfuge and deceit, _if only i could crack into that skull of yours, kurusu._

“It may be for the best,” Kitagawa agreed, “My eyes were opened when you all pulled me through Madarame’s Palace. Perhaps Akechi’s uncertainty regarding our ‘justice’ could be resolved in the same manner.”

“Yeah, but,” Sakamoto gestured vaguely, “What if it doesn’t, and he goes running to the police about the Metaverse and stuff?”

“I don’t think the police would take the ‘alternative dimension’ thing all that seriously if he did,” Takamaki muttered _sotto voce._

Goro looked between them all, settling finally on Kurusu’s unwavering gaze, and let out a breathless little laugh of amusement. _Honestly,_ they really were children. So open and trusting, ready and eager to share their power in the name of their naive justice. It made him feel oddly indulgent - and sad, though he couldn’t pinpoint why, exactly. He thought his empathy had been burnt out of him long ago. 

_shido is going to eat you all alive,_ he thought, _he will let you build yourselves up, if only to make your fall that more lethal._

“Alternative dimension?” Goro said as the Phantom Thieves looked at him questioningly at his laugh, “You mean, that place is actually…”

He trailed off uncomfortably. 

“Huh?” Sakamoto frowned in confusion, “That place is what?” 

“Wait, Akechi-kun…” Takamaki gasped, “You already know about it?”

Goro paused, noting the subtle tension that ran through the group. What was that from? Realising they weren’t the only ones out there aware of the Metaverse? Or perhaps Madarame’s Shadow had gone blabbing after all. Piece of shit. He always knew that old man was more trouble than he was worth. 

“...I chalked it up as a very intense hallucination,” Goro said quietly, fishing out his phone, “But I suppose that was just wishful thinking on my part.”

He held up his phone, and in the centre, the ominous unblinking eye of the Metanav glared at the group. 

“This appeared on my phone a few months ago,” he said, keenly watching the Phantom Thieves jerk in open surprise, “I haven’t been able to delete it, much as I would have liked to. The one time I used it, I narrowly avoided being decapitated by some monster in that… in that other place. So, I… well, tried to pretend it didn’t exist. _Hoped_ it didn’t exist, I should say.”

“He has the nav?!” Sakamoto squawked. 

“The _what_?” the mysterious, disembodied voice barked, and next thing Goro knew, Kurusu’s pet cat burst free from its bag to stare at him. Then it _spoke,_ “He does! He has the app! So that's how he knew about the pancakes!”

“That cat just talked,” Goro heard himself say, shoved flat-footed for the first time in this conversation. 

“Oh, yeah, uh, that’s just Mona,” Takamaki said over the cat’s yowl of _“I’m not a cat!”_ , waving her hand dismissively, “You get used to it!”

Goro blinked very slowly, his gaze shifting from the cat, to Kurusu, to the rest of the Phantom Thieves. After a pause, he realised he was still holding his phone up, so he locked it and shoved it back into his pocket, quickly compartmentalising the whole _cat_ thing. Okay. Fine. Whatever. He’ll roll with it. 

“That settles it then, does it not?” Kitagawa said, unruffled by the whole situation, “If he already has access to the Metaverse, then we may take him with us.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he has a _Persona_ ,” Sakamoto pointed out, “He might end up being a useless deadweight.” 

“Do you?” Kurusu asked before Goro could snap at being called _‘useless deadweight’_ , “Have a Persona?”

Finally. The conversation was back into manageable waters.

“That is… the strange phantom you can summon, yes?” Goro said carefully, injecting enough uncertainty and discomfort into his tone to make him sound completely ignorant, “Ah, yes, I… have that. I believe.” 

“That _‘strange phantom’_ is your Persona,” the cat said, adopting a smug, knowing tone that Goro knew he was going to get very tired of, very fast, “It’s your other self, your will of rebellion, and can protect you against the Shadows - the ‘monsters’ - in the Metaverse.”

“I see,” Goro mumbled, sounding overwhelmed. 

“It’s how we change people’s hearts,” Takamaki continued, “See, um, when someone’s desires are distorted enough, they get something called a ‘Palace’ that holds the ‘Treasure’, which is their distorted desires but made physical. When we steal it, we take away their distorted desires and they become- well, not _good,_ but they feel guilt over what their desires made them do and they confess!” 

“You’re so smart, Lady Ann!” the cat gushed, “You explained that so well!” 

_Treasure?_ What the hell was- 

Compartmentalise. Goro boxed that bit of info away to dissect later, outwardly blinking at Takamaki in what he hoped was an acceptable level of innocent confusion. 

“I… see?” he repeated. 

“Like I said, it’ll be easier to show you,” Kurusu finally said, “With us, you won’t have to worry about getting hurt.” 

“Yeah! And we can show you that what we’re doing is right,” Sakamoto boasted, rolling his shoulder with a cocky grin, “Might even help you be useful with that Persona of yours, Mr. Pretty Boy Detective.” 

“Pretty Boy Detective?” Goro couldn’t stop the scoffing laugh escaping him, “I’m a little concerned at how often you focus on my looks, Sakamoto- _kun_. Is there something you wish to confess?” 

“Wha- I’m not- I’m just _saying_ -” Sakamoto spluttered, his ego effectively punctured as he flailed defensively. 

Takamaki giggled, “You walked right into that one, Ryuji.” 

“Argh! Let’s just go into Kaneshiro’s stupid Palace already!” Sakamoto snapped, his cheeks a bright red.

Goro belatedly realised he was smiling in honest amusement. He swiftly suffocated the feeling before it dug its claws in. Stupid. Don’t get drawn in, now. 

They all agreed to move to a more secluded spot to ‘hop over’ to Kaneshiro’s Palace, while Goro pretended to be amazed at the mechanism for entering a target’s Palace. All the while, Kurusu watched him intently, like he was searching for cracks in an otherwise immaculate facade. It made Goro’s heart skip beats. 

_he isn’t fooled,_ his paranoia whispered, _not in the slightest._

That was fine. The _others_ were fooled, and Kurusu seemed content to go along with it for now. Goro will just have to be careful. He can do _careful_. Easily. If he can pull the wool over _Shido’s_ eyes, he can lull Kurusu into a false sense of security by playing the doe-eyed, innocent Detective Prince to the _hilt_. 

So, he flashed him a small but curious smile, fearlessly meeting that intense gaze with a guileless one of his own.

And felt a tiny thrill when Kurusu looked away without saying a _thing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this was just one big chapter of talk talk talk but we're really heading into AU territory now! hahaha things get... fun from here on out :3


	5. AKIRA III: The End of Kaneshiro

Peering down at the green tinged Shibuya ways below him, Akira is all at once very thankful he’s not afraid of heights.

He steps away from the edge anyway, not quite trusting that Kaneshiro’s shadow isn’t going to burst out from the bank doors ahead of them and through a series of events somehow end up knocking Akira off the edge. His life was after all a series of accidents, so it’d only be fair really that his death would be just as unlucky.

So instead he moves over to where his small group of thieves, plus one Goro Akechi, have decided to gather around the bank entrance in order to find a suitable code name for their newest addition. After the little run down they’d given him earlier, Akechi seemed to pick up the intricacies of the Metaverse faster than any of them had. Akira would have been impressed if he hadn’t been so busy watching Akechi’s every move since they’d first stepped into the Metaverse and proceeded up the pathway that had opened the moment Akechi had stepped forward and calmly asked for entry.

That wasn’t so surprising considering Akechi would now be viewed as one of Kaneshiro’s _‘customers’_ , a fact he had also explained to them in a testament of just how quickly he was picking things up. Still, there’s a small collection of thoughts in the corner of Akira’s mind that he just can’t get rid of.

If he’s being entirely honest, Akira’s not really sure what to make of him.

Akechi had known that they were the Phantom Thieves, had managed to stumble into the Metaverse himself on one occasion and had awoken to his persona, and yet had approached Akira with an offer that included none of that information. An offer after a chance meeting that had been a little too convenient. This of course Akechi had an answer for in the form of admitting that he wanted to _‘observe the Phantom Thieves' idea of justice’_. He seemed to have an answer for everything. All stated with such a bold display of open emotion it would make any actor weep with envy.

Akira wasn’t buying it.

He didn’t doubt that some of what Akechi had told them was true. But there were too many subtle inconsistencies: the sudden switch in opinion on the Phantom Thieves, his consistently fake TV smile he seemed to always fall back on, and not to mention the way his entire demeanor had flipped the moment he’d noticed them in Kaneshiro’s hideout. Akira hadn’t forgotten about the comment Madarame’s shadow had made about there being another Metaverse user, and although he didn’t assume that Akechi was the person he’d been talking about, Akechi also clearly wasn’t being entirely truthful with them.

But for now Akira would go along with it. Everyone had secrets, it wasn’t really his place to try to dig up things that Akechi might not be ready to talk about.

Maybe once he trusted them he’d be willing to open up a little more and Akira would realize that his suspicions were unfounded. After all, Akira knew better than anyone how hurtful it was to be immediately judged without anyone bothering to get to know him better.

Besides, whether or not it was true that Akechi had an internship or not, there was clearly something stopping him from running to the police about them. At least for now. And what better way to test his loyalty than dragging them straight into a palace so that they could fight for their lives together? Nothing quite said _bonding_ like shared near-death experiences.

And if Akira was wrong and after this mission the cops showed up to arrest them, well, he’d just have to deal with that later.

“ _Yeah_!” Ryuji says loudly enough to snap Akira out of his thoughts and probably alert every shadow in the area to their location. “His mask does kinda make him look like a bird, so I think Crow fits!”

 _Crow_ bristles, crossing his arms and giving Ryuji a sour look from over the long beak of his mask. The white of his uniform stands out in stark contrast to the rest of them, and the lightsaber and ray gun sitting at his hip makes him look like some idealized version of a hero rather than any sort of thief.

Akira can’t help but smile.

Well, sue him if he just doesn’t want to think the worst of Akechi yet.

“Come on guys,” Akira says while evening out his expression and stepping forward, doing his best to become the inscrutable leader they need him to be. Akechi’s gaze falls on him and they lock eyes for a moment. There’s unmistakable tension in the intensity of his stare, a silent challenge that increases the energy buzzing across his skin.

Joker responds with a smirk and a twirl of his dagger, “Let’s do this.”

***

As it turns out, Crow is good at fighting.

This of course is something Joker learns after a small handful of fights. The first of which is almost comical in the way that Crow adamantly refuses to use his persona and instead tries to use brute force against a shadow with a high resistance to physical.

During that fight, Joker finds himself only half paying attention to his target as he watches Crow shoot and assault the shadow with his lightsaber with such precision that despite the resistance it _actually_ seems to work decently well. Not wanting to be outdone, Joker soon follows suit and calls back Arsene so he can instead pull out his dagger.

It doesn’t take long for Crow to notice him and a thrill travels down Joker's spine at the raw challenge he sees in his gaze. There’s something else there too, something familiar, but before Joker can tell what it is he’s distracted by the blade of the Oni he’s fighting that he only barely jumps out of the way of.

“Would you use your persona’s already!?” Mona yowls from somewhere behind them.

Joker watches as Crow moves back to give himself a bit of distance from his opponent. “Ah I confess I forgot that was an option,” Crow says, flashing a small smile as he pulls out his ray gun to shoot. “You’ll have to forgive me, I am rather new to this.”

The next fight only goes slightly better.

As soon as they enter battle, Crow steps up with a grandiose flourish and summons Robin Hood for the first time, and they all gaze on in awe as a blinding light shoots from its bow and...completely misses its target.

“It seems I still have to get the hang of this,” Crow says brightly as the untouched group of shadows move in for their attack.

It’s in that fight that something seems to shift a little. Crow continues to throw attack after attack at the surrounding shadows, but all of them seem to miss their mark, leaving Joker and the rest of the Phantom Thieves to take care of them. Unlike the previous battle though, Joker decides to finally allow himself to go all-out, diving straight into things for the first time since the last time they’d explored Mementos several weeks ago.

He switches between personas as he goes straight for weaknesses, Arsene knocking down an Oni with a critical hit, and Genbu’s dragon head rises over them as it knocks down an Orthrus with bufu. Joker smirks as he tears into the shadows on the ground with his dagger, watching as they disintegrate from under the hilt of his knife. Before long the field is cleared of enemies, and Joker turns to see Crow watching him, something indescribable in his expression that only serves to speed up his already racing heart.

It’s a weird feeling, and Joker finds himself looking away first without thinking too much about it.

The fight they get into after that is when the real change happens.

Almost as soon as they get into battle, Crow dives into the fight with the same type of deadly focus he displayed in that first fight when he’d used only his gun and sword, only this time he adds his persona into the mix. Robin Hood’s attacks hit with almost perfect precision, and Crow moves across the battlefield with deadly potency, every move made with lethal intent. When he cuts down the last shadow, the Phantom Thieves share a look with each other, expressions matching with various degrees of shock and awe.

“Wow, you...really improved, Crow!” Mona tells him.

“Oh, did I?” Crow responds with what must be feigned modesty. “I simply found myself watching our leader here in the last battle, and I picked up a few things.”

“Dude, you totally wiped the floor with them!” Skull says, voice once again bordering on a little too loud for their current location.

Crow gives a small laugh in response. “I suppose I do pick up on things rather quickly. Or maybe it’s just natural talent.” He smiles innocently and Joker mentally files away his suspicions with the rest of them. There was nothing that said Crow _couldn’t_ be an incredibly fast learner, but still, it was pretty odd.

From there on out they’re able to get through the palace pretty quickly. With Crow’s mental prowess to help with the puzzles, as well as his skill in battle, they’re able to practically fly through to the end after only two days. On the third day they send the calling card by having Ryuji and Mona scatter them throughout the streets of Shibuya, which meant the only thing left was Kaneshiro himself.

And well, to say the least Joker wasn’t really expecting him to turn into some kind of fly-creature straight out of his nightmares, but that seemed to be the hand he was dealt.

Luckily they manage to take care of him and his obnoxiously large piggy-bank fairly quickly, Crow and Joker having dealt a majority of the damage at the front lines while the rest dashed around the field, acting primarily as support.

Once Kaneshiro’s defeated, his shadow a sniveling mess on the floor, he goes on about some sob story about his past that Joker could really care less about. So, he’s only half-listening, busy focusing on the gold and quietly mapping out their way out in his head for when the palace inevitably collapses, when he catches Kaneshiro’s shadow looking over at Crow with newfound interest. 

“Wait, aren’t you…?” the shadow says, and Joker notices Crow stiffen ever so slightly. “No, it can’t be…” he corrects himself a moment later, shaking his head before prattling off on some other tangent.

The rest of the Phantom Thieves, Crow included, continue to go on as if nothing had happened, but Joker doesn’t let it go so easily. Logically, Kaneshiro could have recognized Crow as being the Detective Prince, that was a fairly obvious conclusion to draw. But along with all the other things Joker’s been filing away about Goro Akechi, he adds this too to the pile.

Because there’s a little voice in the back of his head that asks: _what if he wasn’t talking about the Detective Prince._

***

In the days that follow Kaneshiro’s defeat, the Phantom Thieves continue on with their daily lives as normal. Much like Kamoshido and Madarame, the results of their efforts don’t show immediately. And although he and Akechi exchange frequent updates on the situation, Akira doesn’t see him for several days. Akira of course understands that he’s busy, and yet his pile of worries and concerns regarding him aren’t at all helped by his sudden absence.

Still, he mentions nothing of this to any of the Phantom Thieves. Not even to Morgana, who he knows has his own set of concerns, and yet he trusts Akira’s judgment. They all do.

Akira just really hopes he’s not going to get them all arrested.

His worries ease a little when the news comes out that Kaneshiro finally confessed to all of his crimes. They ease a little more when it seems Akechi was true to his word, and the cops don’t immediately come bursting through his door afterwards to arrest him. That was always a pretty good sign of success. Maybe the palace infiltration filled with countless near-death possibilities really did have the bonding effect he was hoping for.

He had a feeling that getting Akechi to trust him wasn’t going to be that easy, but well, he could still hope.

Still with Kaneshiro’s confession and a lack of sudden arrests, that left only one thing they had to worry about. Luckily, she approaches him first.

“Akira-kun,” Makoto says, coming up to him as he’s in line to buy lunch. “Can you and your friends come meet me in the student council room after school? I’d like to speak with you.”

She looks a little nervous as she says it, as if he might say no. And considering Kaneshiro confessed only the day before, Akira is pretty certain what she wishes to talk to them about.

However, it’s not exactly anything they should bring up in the middle of the crowded school hallway, and he’s glad that Makoto recognizes that.

So he offers a casual shrug. “Yeah sure.”

“Thank you,” she tells him, giving him a smile. And it’s enough to ease some of his worries about the kind of talk that she wants to have. He’s pretty sure she isn’t the type of person to smile while intending to betray them. At least he hoped.

***

“Thank you for meeting with me.”

Makoto’s voice seems sincere, but Akira isn’t blind to the way that both Ryuji and Ann still look a bit on edge. They’d expressed concern about meeting her since the moment Akira mentioned it, and although he didn’t exactly share those concerns, he could at least understand them.

“Yeah, so what’s this about?” Ryuji says. “You still gonna tell on us?”

To her credit, Makoto seems openly shocked at that suggestion.

“I- no. No, of course not.” she quickly stutters in defense. “In fact I wanted to apologize to all of you for the way I acted.” With a sigh, she bows her head and continues. “I was so focused on doing what I was supposed to that I didn’t stop to consider if it was the right thing to do. No matter how it turned out, I got all of you involved in a dangerous situation while I sat here and did nothing to help. And for that I’m deeply sorry.” As she finishes, she finally looks up to meet each of their eyes in turn and Akira can sense nothing but open sincerity from her.

“Oh that’s okay Makoto-senpai,” Ann says, looking as if she’d come to the same conclusion. “You couldn’t have helped.”

“Thank you,” Makoto says with a nod. “I’m not sure of your methods, and I’m not going to ask, but I appreciate whatever it is you did to put a stop to him. I’ll delete all the evidence that I have on you, and I hope that you can all come to forgive me.”

“Hey, you’re already forgiven,” Ryuji tells her, and Ann quickly agrees.

And as she thanks them again, Akira mentally adds her to the list of people he needed to spend more time with.

She really didn’t seem so bad.

***

Akira doesn’t see Akechi again until two days after Kaneshiro confesses.

It’s a sweltering hot day out, and Akira’s standing and talking with Kasumi at the station while debating the merits of jumping into the nearest fountain, when Akechi walks up to them. He looks annoyingly unaffected by the heat, even in his dress shirt and tie, and his pleasant TV smile has never seemed more fake than in that moment. No one could smile like that on a day like this. Akira wasn’t fooled.

Through a series of introductions in which it’s established that they all know each other, they end up going to a cafe. Akira watches the two of them talk, without offering much input even as Akechi decides to bring up the topic of the Phantom Thieves, completely unprompted. It’s a bit of a bold and daring move, and Akira can’t say he entirely understands it, but Akechi had made it clear that his opinion of the Phantom Thieves was to remain the same as before as to avoid suspicion on his end, as well as to continue to be the main one responsible for _‘hunting them down’_. Bringing it up here to Kasumi though seems a little excessive, but this _was_ Akechi he was talking about. He swore he liked to stir up problems on purpose sometimes.

Akira watches Akechi as he listens intently to Kasumi’s response, and through the exasperation he kind of hates that there’s a degree of fondness for him there. He was all pleasant smiles and bold intellect, but underneath that there was a certain antagonistic streak along with a penchant for purposefully being difficult, and Akira wasn’t sure why but he kind of really liked that about him. Of course Akira did still have a million and one questions concerning him, his recent absence being one of them, but he can’t quell that part of himself that wants to trust him. That wants _Akechi_ to trust him. He doesn’t exactly think that Goro Akechi has many friends, if any. He kept himself way too busy for that, if the dark circles forming under Akechi’s eyes were any indication. Not to mention the very obvious trust issues.

Well, Akira could help with that. Probably. He was at the very least willing to try.

It’s with that thought that Akira finds himself caught staring as he’s suddenly met with the full force of Akechi’s gaze.

“Let me ask you, then,” Akechi says to him. “What do you think of Yoshizawa-san’s opinion?”

Akira doesn’t know how to exactly break it to Akechi that he’d been so busy thinking about him that he’d failed to pick up anything that Kasumi had just said. He also kind of wonders what Akechi’s reaction would be if he _did_ actually say as much.

Of course Akira doesn’t want to accidentally scare him away forever, not when he just made a mental pact of friendship with him. It was currently one-sided, but Akira could work with that.

“She’s not wrong,” Akira finds himself saying, taking a true neutral stance and hoping he’s not accidenally fucking any of this up. He really needs to work on paying attention more.

Luckily for him, Akechi seems pleased by his answer so mission don’t-fuck-things-up with Akechi is still a-go.

“Ah, so you think you should let others come to their own conclusions on the matter,” Akechi says and Akira nods as if that was exactly what he’d been saying.

“Wait...Could you actually be a fan of the Phantom Thieves, Akira-senpai?” Kasumi asks him in clear surprise and Akira continues pretending to be mute by turning his nod into a firm shake of his head and hopes he’s not rattling his brain too much. Everytime he thought of being a fan of the Phantom Thieves he kind of thought back to Mishima, and now was not a time that he was prepared to explain that he was a _phanboy_ while Akechi was still sitting there watching him intently.

“I didn’t mean to start an argument,” Akechi says in the next moment, like a liar. “I just can’t help myself sometimes.” He smiles innocently in Akira’s direction, and Akira tries to shove whatever weird feeling just tried to crawl its way up his gut right back down to the depths where it came from. He settles for calling Akechi an asshole in his head instead, and that thought makes him feel a little bit better.

Very shortly after that, Kasumi states she has to get going which puts their little get together to an end. Yet after she leaves, and before Akechi has a chance to make his exit, Akira stops him.

“We should do something together,” he finds himself saying once Akechi turns to look at him in question. After the words leave his mouth he kind of wants the ground to swallow him because he really meant to piece together something more eloquent than that in the interest of strengthening their friendship, but apparently that was all his mind supplied him with. He lists his brain on the list of things in his life that have betrayed him.

“Oh?” Akechi says, raising a brow in interest. “Like what?”

Akira quickly flips through his mental plans for the next few days, and with no small amount of relief comes up with an idea that’s actually reasonable for once.

“Me and the guys are going to the fair on Sunday, you should come.”

In response, Akechi looks at him as if he’d asked him to go ice-skating in the middle of July. “The fair?” He questions, brow furrowed. “Why?”

Akira blinks at him, not really having expected that response. He at least thought it was a fairly reasonable invitation. Going to the fair wasn’t something that was considered weird, was it?

Sticking his hands into his pockets, Akira shrugs casually. “Because you seem stressed and it’ll be fun.”

Akechi’s eyes widen as if he’s surprised. “Ah...well you see,” he says, looking away as if he’s trying to find his words. Or maybe he’s nervous? But that couldn’t be. “I’ve been studying a lot for exams,” he continues. “They’re coming up soon for you too, right? I do believe our schools have the same exam period.” Turning back to Akira with his newsworthy smile, he finishes with, “I do hope you’ve been finding time to study.”

And well, Akira had read a few books that had some pretty general knowledge, and he answered a few crossword puzzles so he would probably be fine. But Akechi was trying to dodge the question, and so Akira would tell him none of that.

“Sometimes you need to give yourself a break,” Akira answers with another shrug.

Akechi gives him a long hard look, as if he’s considering. “I...do see your point,” he says after a moment. “Fine then, I will join you.”

And Akira’s not sure if he imagines it, but the smile he gives him isn’t quite as plastic as the one he normally shows.

***

As it turns out, the day of the fair is somehow even hotter than the day they went to the cafe.

Not only is it hot enough to make Akira seriously consider every one of his life choices, but it’s so crowded that it also makes him consider the life choices of a lot of other people. On top of that, the lines for all of the food stands are ridiculously long so they can’t even distract themselves with that.

Even Akechi has stopped pretending to be having a nice time. Akira watches as sweat drips down his neck and into the shirt collar of another white dress shirt that he has for some ungodly reason decided to wear underneath a sweater-vest on what might be the hottest day of the summer so far. At least he’d decided to ditch the tie, if he hadn’t Akira might have seriously considered taking it off for him because even just _looking_ at him was making him hotter. From the heat. Yes, definitely the heat.

Where was a hole in the earth when he needed one?

In the next moment he finds himself meeting Akechi’s slightly panicked expression, and for a horrifying second Akira wonders if he just said all that out loud before he realizes that his gaze was focused on something _beyond_ his shoulder. Ryuji and Yusuke seem oblivious to this as they continue to complain about the world’s shittiest fair day, but Akira casts a glance behind him to see what he’s looking at with more fear than any shadow he’d encountered in the Metaverse.

Sure enough, in true horror movie fashion, a TV camera crew dodges and weaves through the crowd in a frankly impressive attempt to head straight for them. Akira’s not really sure what a group of sweaty boys made them really look and see _‘News Material’_ , but then his gaze flips back to Akechi who looks about three seconds from bolting and he remembers that they do in fact have the Detective Prince with them.

Whether or not that’s why they were heading over to them had yet to be determined, but Akira wasn’t going to sit around and find out. Not on his first _‘friendship outing’_ with Akechi, no matter how much of a disaster it was already. If he played his cards right, maybe by the end of this Akechi might even still want to talk to him.

In a true fit of genius inspiration, and maybe a bit of desperation, Akira pounces on Akechi. Before Akechi can even register what’s happening, or do anything other than to release a half-choked sound of surprise, Akira has already slapped his glasses on his face and ruffled up his hair into a true imitation of Akira’s own. He only gets a moment to view his work with a small amount of pride at his swift thinking, as Akechi stands there looking stunned in his new getup, looking nothing like he usually did in interviews.

Ryuji and Yusuke stopped talking during Akira’s assault and Akechi continues to stare in complete bewilderment as he seems to be, for once, at a complete loss for words. Before Akira can say something stupid in an attempt to break the sudden silence, his job is done for him by the news reporter who finally steps up to their little group.

“Oh,” she says in clear surprise. “I’m sorry, you looked like the Detective Prince from a distance.”

Akechi, still looking bewildered, turns to her.

“...Common mistake,” he says after a moment.

This somehow seems to appease her as she turns her attention to Ryuji, who is barely managing to contain his laughter. Yusuke, on the other hand, seems to be thoroughly inspecting Akechi with supreme focus.

“...He doesn’t look that different,” Yusuke mutters to himself, quiet enough that the reporter doesn’t seem to hear it.

Still despite Akira’s best effort, the interviewer isn’t completely persuaded and they end up having what some might consider to be the stupidest interview of all time. Akechi doesn’t say a word throughout it, only stands there looking for all intents and purposes...a bit awkward. It’s strange seeing him that way, and Akira watches him from the corner of his eye until the interview finally concludes and the reporters leave them alone.

When Akechi hands back his glasses he doesn’t thank him, and instead clears his throat and says, “I’d prefer it if we never spoke of this again.” His words are immediately followed by a sharp glare aimed at Ryuji, who hadn’t stopped laughing since the interviewers were out of earshot. Akechi then takes several steps back until he’s lingering on the edge of their little group just enough to still technically be standing _with_ them, and proceeds to fix his hair while using his phone as a mirror.

There’s definitely a degree of tension in his posture that wasn’t there before, and Akira’s not quite sure what to make of it. Isn’t sure if he maybe crossed a line that he shouldn’t have. And that worries him.

Still, Akechi doesn’t immediately leave to go home. Instead, he stays with them until the end and even agrees to go back with them to Leblanc. So, Akira figures he couldn’t have messed things up too badly.

***

“I have to say I’m a little surprised you came back here with us,” Akira finally blurts.

The thought had been jumping around in his head, front and center and impossible to ignore, ever since they left the fair. And once they’d gotten back to Leblanc it’d only gotten worse as Akechi had hardly said two words to him, choosing to instead flip idly through a book he’d found on the counter and pretend that he wasn’t watching Akira work.

It was starting to drive Akira a little crazy.

Yet a degree of regret hits him when Akechi lifts his gaze to regard him warily, and Akira silently curses himself and his lack of filter. “Not that I’m complaining,” he quickly adds.

It’s not like Akira was blind to the fact that Akechi seemed distinctly uncomfortable, but the problem was that Akira wasn’t sure why. It couldn’t have been an issue with him, since Akechi had chosen to take his usual seat by the counter while Akira made them coffee, when he could have just as easily sat at the booth with Yusuke and Ryuji. Unless this was a weird territory thing and Akechi was refusing to relinquish his seat as some sort of challenge. As ridiculous as it seemed, somehow Akira wouldn’t put it past him.

With a _hm_ , Akechi takes a long drink from his coffee, meeting Akira’s eyes from over the side of the cup.

“I found myself in the mood for coffee,” he says a moment later, placing the still mostly full cup back on the countertop.

Akira’s not exactly buying it. Who in their right mind would crave coffee after standing out in the sweltering heat all day? Crazy people, that’s who.

“Does it meet your expectations?” Akira asks him blankly, deciding to play along. Akechi offers a saccharine smile.

“It will do,” he responds like a genuine ass.

He takes another long sip of his coffee while looking very satisfied and Akira watches him and wonders how mad he’d get if he took away his cup- considering it was so _adequate_.

Before he has a chance to either do that or something equally as stupid, he’s interrupted.

“Look, it's our interview!” Ryuji calls over from his place at the booth, and with only a small amount of dread, Akira turns to look toward the TV screen on the wall.

Sure enough, it was most definitely them.

And well, he of course first thoroughly inspects himself, frowning at the image. It’s not that he looked bad, quite the opposite really, he could admit that. The problem was that he didn’t exactly like that he was on TV without his glasses. Weren’t there laws or something about blasting the faces of some random teenagers on the news without the very least asking first? Especially when they were embarrassing the hell out of themselves- courtesy of Ryuji. Still, crime by association: as in, they all looked equally stupid.

But of course, more interesting than any of that, is Akechi standing there on screen in a clear display of Akira’s quick thinking. With his glasses, ruffled hair, and sweater vest combo he looks like he’d just gotten lost on his way to the academic debate club. Like an absolute nerd.

There’s a small sound of distress from beside him, and Akira looks back over to the Akechi he had here in person only to see him watching the screen with his face in his hands, peeking through his fingers, bright pink and mortified.

Akira stares.

_...Oh._

Oh, he was _embarrassed_.

Akira’s eyes once again betray him as he finds that he can’t look away. Mentally he berates himself. Baby animals were cute, those little heart-shaped gummy candies he sometimes bought at the 777 Mart were cute, _Morgana_ was cute; Goro Akechi was _not_ cute.

He was his rival, his equal in the Metaverse. Akira had seen him cut down shadows, always deadly in efficiency. He was secretive and a bit of a showoff and probably watched his own interviews for fun-

Akechi makes another distressed noise and closes the gaps between his fingers to completely cover his face with his hands.

...Well except for this one interview. Without meaning to, a smile Akira usually reserved for pictures of cats in sweaters comes to the surface, and he quickly tries to neutralize it before anyone notices.

Goro Akechi _was not cute._

He turns back to the coffee maker and briefly wonders if dropping hot coffee on himself would be enough to distract him from his highly traitorous brain. He thinks it might be broken and he’d like to request a refund from whatever higher power was up there laughing at him.

“Hey, Akechi!” Akira hears and turns just in time to see Ryuji half out of his seat in his enthusiasm to show Akechi his phone screen. “Guess who this is!”

When Akechi turns his head to look, he instantly stiffens as if he was a marionette and his strings had just been forcibly yanked. From Akira’s angle he can just barely catch the image of fluffed up hair and a dorky sweater vest on Ryuji’s phone screen. Sensing a possible murder on the horizon, Akira watches as Akechi spins in his seat towards Ryuji and says through clenched teeth, “ _Delete_. That.”

If Ryuji is aware that the room may or may not have just gotten a few degrees colder, he doesn’t seem to react to it. Instead, he just turns his phone screen back towards himself and grins. “Nah man, this shit is gold.”

“ _I said **delete it!!**_ ”

Akira can’t help but flinch back at the unexpected harshness and volume in his tone, never having seen the perfect Detective Prince lose his cool before, not even in the Metaverse. Even Yusuke looks up in surprise, and Akira notches Morgana’s fur puff up a little from where he’s seated on one of the barstools.

The three of them watch in mute fascination as Akechi rises from his seat and heads towards Ryuji, bristling in pure anger. Ryuji, having apparently finally tuned into the threat, curses and stands from the booth in an attempt to make a run for it. Akechi gets there faster, blocking his only escape route.

“Give me the phone, Sakamoto,” he says slowly, reaching for the phone only to have Ryuji move it out of his reach. Reaching again, more quickly this time, he only comes to the same result. As he does in the third attempt. And then the fourth.

“Is that photo really so terrible?” Yusuke asks in confusion as he curiously watches the two of them fight over the phone from his spot on the other side of the booth. Akira shrugs. He didn’t think it was, but apparently Akechi thought very differently.

Finally, with what sounds suspiciously like a growl, Akechi lunges and in the next moment he has Ryuji held in an honest to god headlock. Ryuji, of course, only laughs from where he’s held captive. “Hah, I knew you were a brat just like us under that polite Detective Prince mask!”

“The _phone_ , Sakamoto,” Akechi seethes, not letting up on his hold. “Or I swear-”

He doesn’t get to finish. Instead, Akechi immediately freezes when the door to the cafe opens, and Sojiro walks back in.

“Huh, what’s going on in here?” Sojiro says as he returns after having gone out to buy a pack of smokes. He looks on in surprise at the sight before him, eyes narrowing in disapproval once the scene registers. “Alright, enough roughhousing, I’ve got a business to run.”

Akechi abruptly releases Ryuji as if he’d been burned, and turns to Sojiro with his perfect newsworthy smile. “My apologies Sakura-san, it appears things got out of hand.” Looking down, he sounds utterly dejected as he adds, “This kind of behavior is unlike me, I assure you it won’t happen again.”

Sojiro widens his eyes, clearly not having expected that kind of formal apology. Honestly neither did Akira, he felt like he was going to get whiplash from Akechi’s sudden demeanor changes.

“Huh, oh yeah sure,” Sojiro says, not looking like he really knows how to respond. “As long as you know.”

From his spot on the other side of the counter, Ryuji leans a little towards Akira. “It’s scary how he just flips like that,” he says quietly.

Akira nods silently in agreement.

***

It’s about an hour later when Ryuji professes that he needs to get home, and Yusuke heads out with him, leaving Akechi at the counter with what Akira’s pretty sure is his third refill of coffee. It’s only after they watch them leave, Sojiro having stepped out a few minutes earlier to check on something back home, that Akechi puts on a show of finishing the contents of his cup and looks to Akira.

“I should get going too,” he says, sounding the slightest bit regretful.

Interestingly enough there’s a part of Akira that doesn’t want Akechi to leave just yet either. It’s a feeling that’s annoying and completely unwelcome, and so he tries his best to ignore it.

Still, as Akechi stands from his seat Akira finds himself saying, “I’ll get Ryuji to delete the picture.”

Akechi looks a bit stunned for a moment, before the emotion fades to something more somber and he shakes his head. “That was childish,” he says. “I’m not sure what came over me.”

_It wasn’t childish. You were just acting like a normal teenager._

It’s what Akira is thinking, but he doesn’t voice his thoughts. He’s not sure how Akechi will receive them, and with the two of them standing in Leblanc alone with Morgana napping on the barstool, Akira finds himself the slightest bit nervous. This is the first moment they’ve really had alone after everything that happened today, and on one hand he feels like their bond strengthened a little, and yet on the other hand he feels like he understands Akechi even less than he did before.

He wants to fix that.

“Hey,” Akira says, a sudden thought rising to the forefront of his brain. “Did you have plans tomorrow night?”

Akechi looks at him in clear surprise. “Ah no, I don’t believe so. Why?”

“Come to the Fireworks Festival with me,” Akira says before realizing how that sounds. “Or well, us. As in Ryuji, Yusuke, Ann, and Morgana. We’re all going.”

Akira kind of feels like eating his tongue. He swears he used to be cool.

Luckily Akechi doesn’t seem too off-put by his lack of eloquence, and instead only tilts his head a bit as if considering him.

“...And you want me to go?”

“Uh yeah. That’s why I’m asking.”

Akechi continues to look at him as if he can’t quite figure him out. Akira shoves his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling a little awkward under the intensity of his gaze. “Very well,” Akechi finally says after a moment. “I’ll go with you.”

“Okay great,” Akira says with palpable relief. “I’ll text you.”

Akechi nods. Standing there, briefcase in hand, he turns for the door, only to look back and address Akira one last time. “Goodnight Kurusu,” he says evenly. “I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

And Akira very promptly ignores the tiny fluttery feeling in his chest.

***

The night of the Fireworks Festival is humid and a bit uncomfortable, and yet Akira can’t deny the bit of anxiousness and unexplainable energy he’s felt about it all day. It’s similar to the feeling that he always gets when he knows they’re going to be exploring the Metaverse later that day, only a bit different. He’s not really sure how to explain it, so he’s been writing it off as being excited to see the fireworks and spend the night out with his friends, but he’s never been very good at fooling himself.

“Are you sure Akechi-kun is coming, Akira?” Ann asks. “Did you text him?”

No, Akira did not in fact text him. Well, at least not since he’d given him the time and place that they were meeting, to which Akechi had responded with a simple: _‘Okay’_. And Akira was perfectly content to leave it that way. It was probably juvenile, but the thought of him texting Akechi about why he was taking so long to meet him at this stupid festival was making him all sorts of jittery. Personally, he would much rather the ground come up and swallow him whole than have to resort to messaging him.

“He’ll be here,” he answers her in a complete nonanswer and hopes that it’s enough.

Akira actively avoids her questioning stare, and he thinks she might say something in response, but of course the world decides to take that very moment to turn itself on its own axis.

He finds himself staring as none other than Goro Akechi makes his way through the station towards them. With his hair pulled back into a ponytail and dressed in a yukata, he looks almost unrecognizable as the detective prince. Similar to how he’s looked different yesterday in his fake nerdy getup, only this one hits _differently_. A lot differently. In a way that makes Akira’s stomach kind of feel like it’s eating itself, or something much more embarrassing. But he’s not quite ready to admit that there’s a sudden _fluttery_ feeling in his gut because there’s no possible way that this could be happening to him. None at all. He probably just ate something bad earlier.

When Akechi finally reaches him he abruptly shoves something forwards, hitting Akira square in the chest.

“Here you have a bag, take these,” Akechi says to him as Akira’s inner meltdown is interrupted by all the air leaving his chest cavity. He takes what had been thrust at him anyway, only to find a set of keys, a wallet, and Akechi’s phone. “This doesn’t exactly have pockets,” Akechi says primly, looking away to greet Ann and the others.

Akira watches him for several moments in a bit of a daze before he finally remembers himself and slips Akechi’s items into his bag next to Morgana who may or may not be looking at him in concern. He ignores him.

When he looks back up at Akechi, it’s to see that he’d already been looking at him. He watches as Akechi’s gaze flickers from Akira to Ryuji and then back again, a bit of worry creeping into his expression.

“Oh no, did I overdress?” Akechi says, noting their casual attire. “Ah, how embarrassing!”

Akira would take it as an act, except he’s not blind to the way Akechi pulls idly at the material of the yukata as if he’s not quite comfortable in it. It’s an honest and minute gesture that goes beyond any of the fake pleasantness and other fabricated emotions that never quite landed right in Akira’s eyes. Instead, it’s like finally looking beneath all of that only to find something a little too real. Like the open embarrassment Akechi had shown the previous day, and the childish behavior he clearly hadn’t been proud of- that he hadn’t wanted anyone to see. Akira watches him now as he fiddles with a bit of hair escaping from his ponytail, and he has the sudden urge to push it back behind his ear for him. Wonders about his possible reaction, and what else he might be able to see in his eyes once there’s nothing there for him to hide them with anymore.

The feeling in Akira’s chest grows stronger and all at once becomes impossible to ignore or to pass off as anything else.

_...Oh fuck._

And it’s in that moment, that Akira realizes he’s completely and utterly screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this chapter ended up being over 7.2k.  
> Thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos!! We appreciate you all so much!


	6. GORO III: The Mask Slips

The last firework festival he had been to had been only a scant few months before Mother's death.

It was also the first and only time he wore a yukata. Mother had 'persuaded' a regular client of hers to get one for him; it had been beautiful, creamy white and silken, embroidered with spiralling petals that fanned into the orange embers of flames, like miniature suns.

The exact pattern was fuzzy in his memories, but Goro remembered Mother carefully straightening its collar on him and saying: _"it's to show that you're my little ray of sunshine."_

It put Goro into a strange mood as he studied his reflection now. His yukata of the present was plain, well-made but not luxurious. It had been a last minute purchase, bought on the heels of Kurusu's easily given invitation yesterday. He adjusted his own collar, exposed with his hair pulled into a ponytail.

That last festival, he had hazy recollections of bright colours and the smell of food stalls. Mother had managed to scrounge enough money together to let him overindulge in too many treats, fried and doughy with too much sugar, the night drifting into the grey haze of exhaustion from a full stomach and Mother's body warmth as she carried him home.

There'd be none of that this time. It would just be standing in a crowded street in Tokyo, rubbing shoulders with his enemies under the guise of _friend,_ and it wouldn't compare at all to the fuzzy yet warm and bright memory. Nostalgia placed it behind a very thick, rose-tinted bulletproof glass, protecting it from ever being usurped from its place of _"my most precious memory"._

Still, his mood was strange. Too dull to be called anger or frustration, too sharp-edged to be melancholy - something barbed, like a fish hook caught an inch under his skin. Goro surgically excised the feeling and boxed it up. 

No matter his personal feelings, he had a job to do.

* * *

When Goro arrived at the meeting spot - fashionably late, he would defend, though in reality he had spent too long debating whether or not carrying his briefcase while wearing a yukata would be too weird before eventually deciding to go without - the rest of the Phantom Thieves were already there. Only two of them were dressed in yukata, Takamaki and Kitagawa.

 _oh, shit, did i overdress?_ He fretted, letting the irritation of the social misstep lengthen his last few strides, _fucking typical._

He announced himself by shoving his wallet and phone against Kurusu’s chest, ignoring the wheezy grunt the Phantom Thief let out - he could take it - and turned to cast an evaluating eye over the rest of the group. Kitagawa in a yukata didn’t surprise him - the boy acted like he had stepped out of a period drama so much so that Goro was half-convinced he was a time traveler - and neither did Takamaki, she seemed like the sort to get in on the fashion chance, but the other two... 

Ugh.

“Oh no, did I overdress?” he asked, ensuring his voice remained politely dismayed and not furiously pissed like he was in actuality. 

“How many times do I gotta say it?” Sakamoto groaned, “We don’t got yukata!”

Kurusu made a strange shrug-nod gesture, too busy fumbling with shoving Goro’s wallet and phone into the Mona-bag, but to Morgana’s consternation with how he was hissing at his human to _“watch it!”_ Belatedly, Goro realised he was without his glasses, and the similarity it drew to his Metaverse self threw him briefly off-kilter. 

“Ah,” he said a bit awkwardly. 

“You look nice, Akechi,” Takamaki said earnestly, “Especially with your hair up! It’s good to see _some guys_ put in some effort.”

“Hey,” Sakamoto protested. 

“I put in effort…” Kitagawa murmured sadly. 

“I didn’t wear my glasses,” Kurusu defended himself, like this was something he should be applauded for.

“I’m sure you tried your best,” Takamaki said in a tone that implied otherwise. 

“Ahaha,” Goro delivered the perfunctory laugh without even thinking about it and instantly wanted to cringe out of his own skin. This wasn’t a group of adults he needed to cater to with an asinine career laugh, but his social cue had been tripped and… ugh. 

He never was one for socialising, and the events he attended required handling Shido’s slimy, and drunken, conspirators who barely paid attention to him beyond wanting to know he was listening to their pathetic little ramblings about how powerful and well-connected they were. This little gathering the Phantom Thieves had going on was so far removed from that that Goro found himself uncertain on how to act in a way that would get them to like him (for backstabbing reasons, obviously).

He wasn’t sure how to insert himself neatly into their dynamic. It was easier in the Metaverse. Battle had its own flow, and Goro was at his most comfortable when he was beating the shit out of something. But in the real world? He was far clumsier and less natural at being a _person_. Or at least, a well-adjusted one.

 _ugh, i want to go home,_ he thought petulantly. 

“Even with his best, I’ve heard Ryuji’s pretty much failed his exams,” Morgana snitched brattily. The strange meanness of his tone made Goro frown.

“Mona, you little-” Sakamoto seethed, taking an aggressive step forward. 

“ _Hey,_ c’mon, stop that,” Takamaki cut in, “it’s gonna get crowded if we don’t get going!”

The situation was defused when Kitagawa voiced his agreement, but Goro couldn’t help but give Kurusu a questioning look. 

Shouldn’t he have intervened there, as the leader?

It was a trend Goro noticed even in the Palace, where Kurusu sat back and let his group squabble and snipe at each other pettily with that unreadable look on his face. Even now he didn’t seem to be paying them much mind, staring somewhere far to Goro’s left, fiddling with his fringe and hiding his exposed face as much as possible.

 _he’s a little…_ shy _outside of that Joker facade, isn’t he?_ Goro realised. 

At Takamaki’s urging, they began making their way to street level. The crowd was a little more than what Goro was comfortable with, and he had an abrupt paranoid thought of being recognised, even if yesterday had proven that most people were fooled by something as simple as a pair of glasses. While he did preen and enjoy some recognition for his hard work, right now he was too irritated and stressed out to deal with fans jockeying for his attention. 

Subconsciously, he found himself sticking closer to Takamaki than the others. He always did find himself less threatened by women. 

Unfortunately, Takamaki took that as an invitation to talk to him; “So, Akechi, do you always wear a yukata for fireworks?”

Fuck.

“Ahaha,” he did that stupid fucking interview laugh again, god damn it, “No, Takamaki-san. This is the first time I’ve had the opportunity to attend a fireworks festival in recent years. My work demands a lot of my time, especially in the evenings. In fact, this is the first time I have worn a yukata since childhood. Is it that obvious?”

“Er, no, I was just wondering,” Takamaki said slowly, giving him an unreadable look. Goro kept his smile up, wondering what social rule he had stumbled over to get that stare, “You look very nice, Akechi.”

“Thank you, Takamaki-san,” Goro replied, and drew breath to say more, but Takamaki continued. 

“You know, you _can_ call me Ann,” Takamaki said, giving him a playful nudge in the ribs. Her elbows were very pointy, “You don’t need to be so formal with me, Akechi.”

“Ah,” Goro hesitated. Everyone in the Phantom Thieves _were_ on a first name’s basis, and it would foster closer ties and camaraderie, sort of vital if he was planning on infiltrating them for optimal backstabbing opportunities, but the idea of being so familiar with someone, and vice versa, made him want to shudder. It felt like it would be crossing a line he had drawn the moment he decided upon his revenge plan all those years ago. 

But, compromise. Compromise. 

“Then call me Goro,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek when Takamaki beamed at him, “It’s only fair.”

“Alright,” Ann’s eyes sparked with mischief, “Goro-senpai?”

The unexpectedness of _that_ ridiculous suffix drew a _real_ laugh out of him, a rough, barking noise that had him quickly slapping a hand over his mouth, mortified, while Ann gaped at him. 

“Er, sorry-” he started. 

“Oh, no, no, that laugh is _so much better_ than your other one,” Ann said quickly, then winced, “Um, wait, that sounds rude. I mean, you know.”

 _it doesn’t sound fake,_ something muttered in the back of Goro’s brain. 

“It’s alright, Tak- Ann,” Goro said quickly, just wanting to push past the moment and never think about it again, “Do you go to the firework festival often?”

Despite the inane question, Ann gracefully took the topic change, “Oh, yeah, I go every year. Normally with Shiho but-”

She stopped, her expression pinching, and Goro belatedly remembered that Ann’s friend attempted to commit suicide barely two months ago. He was a dumbass. 

“-but this year, I’m going with you guys!” Ann recovered valiantly, flashing him a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “It’s a little different, but that just means I’ll have lots to tell Shiho when I visit her in the hospital tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Goro said quietly, feeling discomforted. He felt a bizarre mix of feelings about the events in Shujin, regarding Kamoshida, and the student who tried to commit suicide, and the friend she almost left behind. It drew too many parallels to personal things, so he neatly boxed them up and shoved them down into the earth where they could rot out of sight. 

He was jealous. Strangely. Jealous and resentful that Ann’s ‘Shiho’ lived where his-

Whatever.

Ann noticed his dip in mood, and gently nudged him as she shifted closer, “Hey, Goro, are you-”

“You two are _cosy~”_ Sakamoto intruded on their conversation, popping up at Goro’s shoulder with a suggestive grin. Goro bit his tongue to hold back a comment as he slanted an irritated look the blond’s way. Ann mirrored him. 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Ann huffed, leaning past Goro to swat at Sakamoto, who eased out of reach with a snicker, “Ryuji!”

“Just makin’ an observation!” Sakamoto lengthened his strides so he could walk backwards and mock them at the same time, “You’re gonna break poor little Mona’s heart.”

Ann made a scornful noise, and Goro rolled his eyes at the childish teasing. How was Kurusu’s right hand man so dim?

“You’re such an idiot, Ryuji,” Ann muttered, rapidly climbing the ranks in Goro’s mental list of _‘People I Tolerate’_ for that alone, “Just because a guy and a girl are being friendly does _not_ mean there’s something going on. I’d be dating all four of you guys in that case!”

“You’re dating four guys, Lady Ann?!” And there was Morgana, dragged into the stupidity. 

“No!”

“I never would have thought you would be so adventurous, Ann,” Kitagawa said, and now Goro and Ann’s private little pair was in the middle of the loose circle the rest of the Phantom Thieves made. Kurusu was somewhere just past Ann, and Goro fought the urge to glare at him, deciding this moronic misunderstanding was his fault somehow. 

“I’m not dating four guys! Especially _you_ guys!” Ann raged, making throttling motions towards a now cackling Ryuji. 

“What’s wrong with us?” Kurusu asked quietly, sounding wounded. 

“You’re all buffoons,” Goro said flatly without thinking. 

“Yes! Thank you, Goro,” Ann waved a hand to encompass them all, “You’re not my type. At all. _In the slightest.”_

“Okay, okay, I was just joking,” Sakamoto said quickly, seeing that Ann was getting keyed up, “Sorry.”

“Hmph,” Ann pointed at the blond, “You can make it up for me for buying all my food tonight.”

“What! I’m not made outta money! You’re like a black hole when it comes to sweets!”

“ _Excuse me?!”_

Goro was swiftly abandoned when Ann began to chase a loudly protesting Sakamoto, moving surprisingly fast despite her attire. The rest of them watched as the squabbling pair raced ahead, leaving them all soundly in the dust. 

“I’m so glad Lady Ann isn’t dating four guys,” Morgana broke the silence, slumping over Kurusu’s shoulder with a sigh, “I knew she wasn’t like that.”

“You know, Morgana,” Goro said, irritated beyond all measure and dying to make someone bleed for it, “Ann did include you in the ‘you’re not my type’ declaration. Your chances are less than zero.”

“Hey!”

“You two are on first name terms?” Kurusu asked, giving him a… well, Goro wasn’t sure how to describe that look. If it were on anyone but Kurusu, he would call it a pout. 

“Yes?” Goro said, “She asked, and I gave permission.”

Kurusu smiled tentatively, “Can I call you-”

“No,” Goro said, giving him a bright smile before firmly looking ahead, “We should catch up with them.”

With that he marched forwards, hearing Kurusu mumble something and Morgana huff behind him, but he didn’t care. His mood was soured, and he was acting sour, he knew - fuck. He was messing this up already, after making such a brilliant impression in the Palace! But afterwards, the fair, at Leblanc, and tonight, he was destroying the competent mystique he had built up and it was _aggravating._

Goro caught up to Ann browbeating a sullen Sakamoto. It seemed mostly for show, weirdly, and Ann turned to him with a friendly smile when he stepped in next to her. 

“This seems like a good spot, don’t you think, Goro?” Ann asked, gesturing around them. The crowd was thick, and they were standing in the middle of the street, but they did get a good view of the skyline where the fireworks were going to be set off. 

“It’ll do, I suppose,” he conceded, “We won’t find a better spot than here now, anyways.”

“Dude, right? It’s more crowded than I thought it’d be,” Sakamoto groaned, “With how hot and sticky it was, I thought maybe most people would stay at home or something…”

“As yesterday proved, people will defy expectations and ruin our plans,” Goro muttered, and he and Sakamoto shared a commiserating look, recalling the trauma of yesterday’s ‘fun’. 

Ann looked between them curiously, “You guys okay?”

“Yeah, just remembering when we were stuck in hell together,” Sakamoto sighed, “Man, Akira even got me to delete that photo, such a shame.”

Goro glared at him when Ann asked; “Photo?”

“Oh yeah, we never told you! Yesterday, this guy-”

“Ah, we finally caught up to you,” Kitagawa’s voice cut through Sakamoto’s recounting of That Incident, which was fortunate as Goro had been preparing to tackle him, yukata be damned, “We almost lost you in the crowd.”

“Oh! Sorry, you guys,” Ann said guiltily, “I didn’t realise…”

Kitagawa brushed it off, while Morgana whined a little. Kurusu said nothing, and when Goro turned to him curiously, the intrepid leader of the Phantom Thieves was visibly _sulking._ His arms were crossed, his shoulders were hunched, and he was frowning at his feet, ignoring Morgana using his head as a podium as the cat yowled at Sakamoto for something or other. It was such a childish, petulant stance that Goro couldn’t hold back the short laugh. 

It drew Kurusu’s attention to him, “What?”

“Such a sour face, Kurusu,” Goro said, emphasising his name, “Is something the matter?”

“No,” Kurusu lied.

Goro was _fascinated._ Very rarely was Kurusu so open with his expressions, and he couldn’t help but stare at him, drinking in the way he was being glared at, the smallest of pouts playing about Kurusu’s lips. Who knew something as simple as denying him the right to use his first name in a fit of pique would generate such an intriguing reaction in the otherwise stoic leader of the Phantom Thieves. 

“He’s upset because you won’t let him use your name,” Morgana snitched, sounding a little disapproving.

“I see,” Goro smiled innocently at Kurusu, who was looking a little annoyed at being betrayed like that, “Well, I apologise, Kurusu, but I’m simply not comfortable with it yet.”

“You’re not comfortable with me?” Kurusu asked quietly while looking hurt, which was... a strange reaction. What the hell was that about?

“Shh! Guys, look! It’s starting!” Ann said, quickly directing their attention upwards when something whistled high up into the sky - and exploded. 

Goro couldn’t hold back a flinch at the booming roar. Truth be told, he wasn’t a fan of fireworks. They were loud, flashy, and the noise was viscerally similar to the whistle of an amped up Agidyne being launched through the air, complete with explosion. He tucked his hands into his sleeves to dig his nails into his skin, and his gaze mindlessly followed the streaks of light across the sky as the crowd around them _ooh’d_ and _ahh’d,_ letting his mind flatten into something distant and unlikely to react violently to the noise.

It was probably because of that mild dissociation that he didn’t notice the impending storm until the first raindrop hit his nose. 

“Aw, c’mon!” Sakamoto complained as the heavens opened up with a dull roar, the snap of lightning overwhelming the burst of fireworks. 

“Typical,” Goro muttered, unsurprised that it rained today of all days.

The crowd quickly thinned, and the five of them (plus Morgana) squeezed under the awning outside of 777. It took only a few minutes for them to reach this shelter, but every single one of them ended up soaked through regardless. Goro could feel his yukata stick uncomfortably, and he grumbled under his breath as he leaned down to squeeze the water out of the wet fabric. 

Ann mirrored him to his left, giving an empathetic sigh, “This is gonna be a pain to walk home in…”

“I agree,” Goro muttered, straightening up and - seeing the other boys in their group sharply look away from where they’d been staring, at him or Ann, he wasn’t sure. His expression flattened as he asked, low and intense, “What were you three staring at.”

“Nothin’,” Sakamoto squeaked, still staring heavensward, “Not a thing!”

Kurusu, bizarrely, looked a little red, “Yeah, nothing.”

“I was admiring the comparisons between you and Ann,” Kitagawa said shamelessly, turning his gaze back to him, “The musculature of your calves is different to the usual still-life models I have worked with before. Do you work out often?”

Goro stared at him. 

“I… what?” he said dumbly. 

“Oh my _god,_ Yusuke!” Ann hissed, bolting upright and making a bizarre movement with her hands, “That’s way too forward!”

Kitagawa just looked confused, “What do you mean? I only wished to ask if he could model for-”

“Let’s go inside the store!” Kurusu abruptly shouted, and before anyone could do more than stare at him like he’d gone insane, he grabbed Kitagawa by the elbow and promptly frogmarched him into the 777. 

Sakamato scratched the back of his head, “What got into him?”

“ _Boys,”_ Ann sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “He couldn’t be anymore obvious.” 

Goro and Sakamoto exchanged puzzled looks, and he wasn’t sure if he should be assured or concerned that he and the blond were on the same wavelength for once. What was meant to be obvious? That Kurusu had clearly gone insane at some point since yesterday? Maybe the heat had finally got to him. 

But, he kept these concerns to himself as he obediently followed a muttering Ann into the 777, where it was annoyingly packed with other festival goers escaping the rain. 

“Ugh, we were just tryin’ to get outta the rain, but look how crowded it is…” Sakamoto whined when they caught up to a red-faced Akira in the toiletries aisle. Goro belatedly remembered he needed to pick up some hair conditioner and started browsing their cheap, meagre stock. 

“I guess everyone had the same idea…” Ann sighed. 

“Kinda wish we had a ride like that girl did across the street,” Sakamoto said, then gasped, “Wait, that’s it! Mona, time to show your skills! We need you as a car!”

“It’s not possible in the real world!”

Ann made a low, pissed off noise, “My feet hurt, it’s cold, the festival’s been cancelled… this sucks.”

Their conversation continued, and eventually Goro gave up trying to find acceptable hair conditioner that met his standards. He rejoined the group just as Sakamoto grumbled; “Aren’t heroes that lurk in the shadows boring?”

“I like the shade,” Kurusu replied quietly as he fidgeted with his fringe. 

“What are you, _moss?”_ Sakamoto scoffed. 

“He’s right,” Goro spoke up, then amended when everyone gave him confused looks; “Ah, not that Kurusu is moss, but that keeping a low profile is beneficial to us in the long run.”

“But I wanna change the world with a loud bang, like a huge firework!” Sakamoto whined, proving that he had never cracked open a history book regarding his predecessors who had also changed the world with a loud bang - sometimes literally. 

“Then again…” Sakamoto continued with a sigh, slumping forwards, “We aren’t gonna find someone bigger than Kaneshiro that easily.”

Goro suppressed a twitch, a myriad of names leaping to the forefront of his name, just begging for him to let slip. Kaneshiro had dealt a heavy blow to Shido’s financial laundering - something which he had not been overly pleased about, initially, unfortunately for Goro - but there were other high profile targets that the Phantom Thieves could cut their teeth on without running the risk of kicking the hornet’s nest further. Many who were only involved in fringe elements of the conspiracy, and who were easily expendable in ways Madarame and Kaneshiro weren’t. 

“I may be able to help with that,” Goro began carefully, and smiled blandly when the group turned to him questioningly, “Have you forgotten? I _am_ a detective. I have an insight to people of interest who continue to elude justice due to loopholes and lack of evidence.”

“That’s right!” Ann said, sounding cheered for the first time since they entered the store, “You probably know a whole bunch of criminals who need their hearts changed.”

“I do have something of a ‘to-do list’,” Goro said truthfully, squelching the dark humour threatening to twist his smile at the reminder of his task to induce a Psychotic Breakdown in a target tonight, “Though I can’t promise any of them would have a Palace…”

“Oh, yeah…” Ann mumbled. 

“It’s a start, at least,” Kitagawa said optimistically.

“Make sure to pick out an impressive one!” Sakamoto said boisterously, slapping him encouragingly on the shoulder, “Since Kaneshiro was a crime lord, that means… a corrupt politician?”

“Ahaha, that may be a little too difficult for us right now, Sakamoto,” Goro said, trying not to think about how Shido’s Palace would turn this group into mincemeat within the first hour, “But I will try to find someone suitably, ah, ‘high profile’.”

“Remember, the more people talk about us, the deeper we can go into Mementos,” Morgana reminded them, “Ryuji might have the right of it, with our next target being a politician of some sort.” 

“We’ll see,” Goro said neutrally.

“The rain is letting up,” Kitagawa said abruptly, “Though it’s regrettable, we should go our separate ways for today.”

“Yeah, I’m _freezing,”_ Ann whined, hugging herself and bouncing on her toes. 

Belatedly, Goro realised he was cold too, small tremors rolling through his body that he hadn’t honestly noticed. He was used to punishing extremes with temperatures, thanks to some Palaces ranging from _literal Arctic tundras_ to lava fields. Still, he made a minor show of commiserating with Ann, crossing his arms over his chest to conserve warmth. 

“I agree. It’s a little uncomfortable standing around in soaked clothes,” Goro mumbled. 

“Yeah, we should go home,” Morgana said. 

They parted ways at that point, Goro remembering to reclaim his wallet, phone and keys from Kurusu at the last minute. The journey back to his apartment was a strange one, his mood in an equally strange place as he scrolled through his messages. It was his burner phone that he had brought, in case Shido had any last minute changes to his job tonight, but there was nothing new to read. He only had: 

_“2300. PsyDown. T21.”_

Psychotic Breakdown at 11pm, for Target 21 - which in this case was one Takara Nishimura. He wasn’t anyone special, really, just a whistleblower who had a small piece of information that could, theoretically, be used to lead to something nasty in one of the lower ranked conspirator’s skeleton closet. It was Shido offering a favour - Goro’s services - in return for something else. Goro didn’t know who this favour was for. He wasn’t allowed that privilege. 

He stifled a sneeze, another cold shiver running through him. 

It was going to be a long night. 

* * *

Nishimura was a broad-shouldered, handsome man, whose Shadow took the form of an Ose Hallel.

A rare surprise, certainly, but still no match for Goro. He swatted aside the angelic leopard Shadow’s attempts to decapitate him, and beat the creature into submission with brute force alone. He wasn’t in a complicated mood. He just wanted this chore over with. 

Huh. 

Goro paused at this realisation, ignoring the Shadow quivering at his feet babbling for mercy. He usually looked forward to these jaunts, for a chance to vent the frustration and rage he had suppressed throughout the day in an explosive fury that almost destroyed the Shadows he was supposed to be pumping information from or driving insane. Tonight, however, he felt none of those vicious urges. 

Today had been annoying, yes, but he oddly didn’t feel _angry_ over it. It hadn’t been that bad, comparatively speaking. The Phantom Thieves had even been mildly amusing, even if Kurusu continued to be confusing and weird. 

Goro pushed those thoughts aside, refocusing on his target when he noticed him trying to crawl away. 

“Ah, ah, ah, that’s very rude, Nishimura-san,” he sang playfully, smiling when the Shadow yelped and cowered when Goro slammed his blade a mere inch from his head, stopping his worm-like attempts of escape. 

“Please, please-!” Nishimura babbled, “I won’t tell! I promise! I won’t tell!”

“No, you won’t,” Goro said agreeably, and rested his hand against his mask, “Loki.”

The target screeched, and for once Goro didn’t find any satisfaction in it. 

* * *

When Goro was done, it was well beyond midnight. He went straight home, no detours, the only delay being his less than twenty second phone call to Shido to declare the job done. Shido congratulated and thanked him, and that was that. Par the course. Goro didn’t think much on it. 

He went to bed immediately after that, deciding that tonight he could skip his usual habit of doing some last minute cramming, checking the Phantom Thieves’ chat group, or catching up on the news. He doubted that anything important had happened while he had been at the fireworks festival and in Mementos. 

* * *

The next day he came to regret this lackadaisical decision when he woke up to his alarm four hours later and checked the Phantom Thieves chat group on a whim. 

**_[2154] Sakamoto:_ ** _HELLO DETECTIVE PRINCE! EARTH TO DETECTIVE PRINCE!_

 **_[2154] Takamaki:_ ** _its no good hes prob asleep or busy with smth_

 **_[2155] Kitagawa:_ ** _He is a busy individual. He may in fact already be investigating the case._

 **_[2156] Kurusu:_ ** _yeah he is p busy so best not to bother him_

 **_[2158] Sakamoto:_ ** _dude shouldn’t u be asleep. Wheres mona with his whip lolol_

 **_[2200] Kurusu:_ ** _shhhh he doesnt know im awake!!!_

 **_[2201] Sakamoto:_ ** _u rebel_

What the hell did he miss last night?!

Scrolling upwards through the chat, Goro awkwardly climbing out of bed and shuffling to his bathroom with his gaze fixed firmly on his phone’s screen, he realised that while he was off causing a Psychotic Breakdown, some random hacker group had declared war against the Phantom Thieves?!

 _and of course sakamoto decided they’d be the next target! idiot!_ Goro fumed as he slammed his phone down on his bathroom counter and started aggressively brushing his teeth, _doesn’t he know the_ meaning _of a decentralised organisation!? there’s no one_ to _target!_

Ugh. He couldn’t believe he felt _charitable_ towards them last night!

But, it was odd Shido never mentioned this last night. Goro would’ve thought some outside group interfering on the Phantom Thieves plan would put him in a snit… unless he already had the issue well in hand. Goro couldn’t do much against an anonymous cyber group, but Shido had one or two hackers on his payroll that would be a lot more useful. The situation was probably under control already. 

Goro spat toothpaste into his sink, and couldn’t help but have a bad feeling about the whole thing regardless. 

Once he put his face on and resembled less like a zombie freshly freed from its grave and more like the darling Detective Prince, Goro waded into the chat group with the same grim determination he reserved for Palace infiltrations, moodily munching on a breakfast apple.

 **_[0612] Me:_ ** _My apologies for my late response, something came up last night that distracted me entirely from this chat group._

 **_[0613] Me:_ ** _I see Sakamoto has given his opinion that Medjed should be our next target, but I feel that I should inform you all that such a thing is impossible._

 **_[0618] Me:_ ** _Medjed is a decentralised international organisation that is widely known for its various cyber attacks against several governments, governmental institutions and agencies and corporations. In its early form, it was an online community that acted cooperatively towards loosely-aligned goals, though it has evolved into something considerably more dangerous in recent months. There is no hierarchy to target and no ‘boss’ to eliminate. Even if we managed to identify a Medjed member using the nav, it wouldn’t do anything to damage Medjed in the long term._

 **_[0623] Me:_ ** _My advice would be to ignore their posturing and focus on finding a more_ realistic _target for our goals._

 **_[0625] Sakamoto:_ ** _dude i was gonnareply but u just kept typin holy shit_

 **_[0626] Sakamoto:_ ** _its 2early to read this essay man_

 **_[0627] Me:_ ** _Read it in its entirety, Sakamoto. It could educate you on why declaring Medjed as the Phantom Thieves’ newest target is stupid._

 **_[0628] Takamaki:_ ** _Y R U GUYS UPEARLY_

 **_[0629] Sakamoto:_ ** _mornin jog._

 **_[0630] Me:_ ** _work._

 **_[0631] Takamaki:_ ** _well im awake now_

 **_[0631] Takamaki:_ ** _hiiiii mornin goro!!! I hope u had a good sleep?_

 **_[0632] Me:_ ** _It was fine._

 **_[0632] Kurusu:_ ** _why is everyone awake_

 **_[0632] Kurusu:_ ** _oh hi akechi_

 **_[0633] Me:_ ** _Kurusu I am very disappointed in you._

 **_[0633] Kurusu:_ ** _????_

 **_[0634] Me:_ ** _I would’ve thought you’d be more educated on the type of organisation Medjed are, and prevented Sakamoto from running his mouth._

 **_[0635] Sakamoto:_ ** _pls dont post another essay in here about uh decentiled orgs or whatever_

 **_[0640] Kurusu:_ ** _‘crow is typing…’ lololol its been 5mins_

 **_[0641] Sakamoto:_ ** _im scared. Hold me akira_

 **_[0642] Me:_ ** _medjed.txt_

 **_[0643] Sakamoto:_ ** _dude i was joking about the essay_

 **_[0645] Me:_ ** _read this_

 **_[0645] Kurusu:_ ** _uh oh no capitalisation he means business ryuji_

 **_[0646] Sakamoto:_ ** _shut_

 **_[0646] Sakamoto:_ ** _sht_

 **_[0646] Sakamoto:_ ** _aaaaa_

 **_[0647] Kurusu:_ ** _let ryuji say shit_

 **_[0647] Me:_ ** _I will speak to you all later about this._

 **_[0650] Kurusu:_ ** _i feel like we’re in trouble with daddy…_

Goro locked his phone in irritation and tossed his apple core in the bin, already thinking of ways to deal with this. No doubt people would be clamouring for the Detective Prince’s opinions on the Medjed threat, so he will have to work to dismiss it as a legitimate thing. Psh, honestly, it was probably just a group of hacktivists hoping to ride on the coattails of fame the Phantom Thieves were building up. They might cause a fuss, maybe hack some politician’s email and distribute compromising photos, but they wouldn’t be able to target _them._

Nothing to worry about, in the long term. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this whole thing out in one sitting im dying squirtle


	7. AKIRA IV: Tomb Raider

The ceiling above him is incredibly dusty.

Akira knows he should probably clean it, especially since the last time he tried to do pull-ups on the high beams his fingers very nearly slipped on the grime and he’s been too afraid to work out in here since. But, Akira was currently in a _mood_ , and that mood said that doing anything that involved getting up from his bed would be entirely too much effort.

“Are you really just going to lie in bed all day?” Morgana asks him, his little nose and bright blue eyes cutting off his view of the ceiling.

“Yes,” Akira tells him, booping his nose in the process and earning a very offended yowl and swat of his hand in response.

It wasn’t that Akira was particularly lazy or anything. In fact, in his very humble opinion he’d done more than enough in the past few months. Hanging out and helping different people all across the city, not to mention all the palace infiltration work he’d been doing. He even reported to school every day like a perfectly attentive student, and his grades would make anyone none the wiser to how thin he’s been spreading himself as of late.

Still, with all of that being considered, he supposes it was pretty pathetic that after all that, it would be a _boy_ who would knock him out of commission. And yet, ever since the Fireworks festival he had decided that Goro Akechi was a very certain brand of poison that might just destroy him. He’d never felt like this before and he absolutely hated it. Is this what having a crush on someone felt like? Because if so, he would very much like to find a cure so he could get back to his very abnormal life.

And well, he supposes that there was also the whole Medjed threat that he had to worry about. That...probably should have been a bit more concerning. But it’s not as if Medjed was the one who was fundamentally the most beautiful person Akira had ever seen while simultaneously being one of the most frustrating and confusing people he had ever known.

“He won’t even let me call him by his first name,” he laments to his best friend in the entire world, earning a huff of breath that he understands as being the feline equivalent of a sigh in response.

“Not this again.”

“I just don’t understand what I did wrong, Morgana,” Akira tells him, looking over at him pleadingly. “Why does he like Ann better than me?”

Morgana jabs him with a paw before using his arm as leverage to walk up his side and onto his chest. “Well, Lady Ann is perfect,” he says, staring down at him with his large blue eyes. Akira raises a hand to pet him before freezing halfway.

“Do _you_ like her better than me?” Akira asks him. It wasn’t that he disliked Ann but well, if she really was everyone’s favorite then why was he even here? Maybe that was a little unfair of him, but he didn’t really care at the moment.

“Hey! Don’t put me on the spot here!” Morgana, his ex-best friend yowls at him. Akira was going to find another cat to lament all his life troubles too and then they’d be best friends and he’d see how Morgana felt after _that_. “Anyway,” Morgana continues, oblivious to his revoked status. “Are we really not going to do anything about Medjed?”

Akira does his best semblance of a shrug while lying down, which really just approximates to him wriggling a bit on the bed, causing Morgana to wobble on his chest. “I mean, you know what Akechi said. It makes sense that we wouldn’t really be able to target an entire international organization,” Akira tells him, hating and also simultaneously loving that Akechi was as smart as he was. It was hot, but also, fuck him. “So, unless they happen to give us one person’s name who needs their heart stolen so we can put a stop to this, we’re going to have to find a more realistic target.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Morgana says, settling down in an adorable loaf position on his chest. Akira’s traitorous hand rises without him meaning to, and he scratches him behind the ears. “It’s just frustrating being able to do nothing,” Morgana says between contented purrs which puts him right back into best friend status. He tended to have that effect on him. “I hope Akechi finds us another target soon though, I could really use a distraction.”

At that, Akira nods in agreement. “You and me both.”

***

It’s only a few days later when Akechi sends a message to the group chat, asking for them to meet up with him at the hideout after school on Wednesday.

That meant they’d be meeting up at Leblanc. Since, under Akechi’s express instruction, they’d claimed Leblanc as their new hideout. It was a change that had been made immediately after Akechi had joined during Kaneshiro’s palace, which Akira had to admit was probably _definitely_ for the best. For as much charm as the Accessway had, it wasn’t exactly the best place for a super-secret Phantom Thief hideout. Go figure.

Which is why, on the incredibly muggy evening at the end of July, they all find themselves crowded together in Leblanc.

Akira is situated behind the counter, Sojiro having asked him to keep an eye on the place as he ran out to pick up a few things. The rest of the group have since situated themselves at the booth, with Akechi being the last one to arrive as usual.

Akira’s busying himself with making a pot of coffee which may or may not be Akechi’s favorite blend- not that he deserved it, _asshole_ \- when the door to Leblanc chimes open and Akira nearly drops the pot he’s holding as Ann calls out, “Hey, Goro!”

“Good afternoon Ann,” Akechi greets her, taking his time to nod to the others before finally smiling sweetly at Akira. “Kurusu.”

There’s a part of his heart that patters happily like a stupid dog wagging its tail at the prospect of getting any sort of attention, and yet there’s another part of him that kind of just wants to go back to his dusty attic and sulk some more. He briefly considers dumping the coffee, but decides against wasting any of Sojiro’s coffee beans for no reason.

“So dude, whattaya got for us?” Ryuji asks, settling back in his booth seat.

Akechi gives him a nod of acknowledgement, “I think you’ll all be pleased,” he tells them as he forgoes his usual seat at the counter and instead sits in the booth seat beside Ann.

Another small stab of betrayal strikes Akira at the sight of all of them all sitting together while he’s stuck standing behind the counter. Morgana makes a small questioning noise, looking at him in concern from his spot on the booth seat. Before Akira can reassure him that he’s alright like a true professional liar, he’s interrupted by the sound of his phone going off.

He frowns down at a message from an unknown account.

 _ **[1803] ???**_ : Nice to meet you.

 _ **[1803] ???**_ : I am the one they call Alibaba.

“What’s wrong Akira?” Morgana asks, jumping up on the counter so he can see, and Akira’s all at once thankful that Sojiro isn’t around to notice. Akira lowers the phone so that they can both read it, just in time for two more messages to pop up in quick succession.

 _ **[1804] Alibaba:**_ I know you’re a phantom thief and that you need a person’s name to steal a heart.

 _ **[1805] Alibaba**_ : There’s someone whose heart I would like you to steal.

“What, how do they know you’re a phantom thief!?” Morgana hisses quietly, and Akira can only shake his head in bewilderment. He refuses to tear his eyes away from the screen until another voice cuts in

“Is something wrong, Kurusu?” Akechi asks, and Akira looks up to meet his eyes from where he was still sitting at the booth. This catches the attention of the others who cease talking and warily glance between the two of them

“What’s up, dude?” Ryuji asks with a frown.

“I’m not sure,” Akira mutters, glancing back down at his phone and being greeted by the sight of four new messages since he’d last looked away.

 _ **[1805] Alibaba:**_ But I’m not asking for charity. Let’s make a deal.

 _ **[1806] Alibaba**_ : You wish to know about Medjed, correct? I can give you information on them if the change of heart is successful.

 _ **[1806] Alibaba:**_ If you so desire, I can take care of them as well.

 _ **[1807] Alibaba:**_ I can track down their accounts just as I have with yours.

As he reads each incoming message, his pulse races in a flair of sudden nerves. Here he had no idea who this was or how they knew so much about him, and Akira’s left with the prickling sensation that he’s being watched.

“Don’t trust them.”

The voice comes from right behind him, and Akira jolts, not having expected anyone to be there. Turning his head he’s met with none other than Akechi, up close and personal. He must have at some point come behind the counter, either soundlessly or...it was possible Akira had just been so lost in his own head he completely failed to notice. That tended to happen a lot. What he _does now_ notice is Akechi’s face hovering inches from his as he reads over Akira’s shoulder. In fact it’s suddenly very hard _not_ to notice. In other words, Akira was _noticing_ , and his brain was also currently on standby. 

“Tell them we have it handled,” Akechi continues, completely oblivious to the fact that Akira’s pulse was now racing for an entirely different reason and he may or may not have been subtly leaning the _slightest_ bit closer. “Or better yet, ignore it.”

In a brief moment of insanity, Akira wonders what Akechi would do if he closed the small distance between them. He can almost picture his shocked little gasp as he kissed him; although, after that he’s... _not certain_ how he would react. Would he lean into it? Kiss him back gentle and the slightest bit unsure. Or would he react aggressively? Pushing Akira away for good- or...maybe even into the countertop, looming over him with open challenge in his expression.

Akechi raises a brow at him and Akira swallows, tearing his eyes away and looking back down at his phone just in time for the next message to appear.

 _ **[1808] Alibaba:**_ You’ll regret ignoring this. The Medjed threat isn’t going away and I can help you stop it.

As Akechi reads the message, his eyes narrow dangerously. And while Akira knows that he should _probably_ be even more worried about people stalking him and all that, he suddenly can’t really bring himself to care. That probably said something about him that he’d rather not inspect too closely.

Traitorous hands trembling in a way that’s completely unrelated to fear, Akira types out his reply and hopes that Akechi won’t notice.

 _ **[1809] Me:** _Who are you?

 _ **[1809] Alibaba**_ : So you don’t want me to help you?

 _ **[1810] Me:**_ We have it handled.

 _ **[1810] Alibaba:**_ I bet the world would be interested to learn that Akechi Goro is a phantom thief.

Akira’s blood goes cold, and he hears Akechi’s sharp intake of breath.

“Give me that!” Akechi snaps, stealing the phone away and furiously typing a response with an annoyed expression. Akira looks over to the rest of his team who have moved over to stand by the counter, Morgana busy giving them the quick rundown of what was happening. He can’t help but be glad that Morgana stepped up in his place, even though with Morgana doing that and Akechi taking over his phone, Akira finds himself uselessly loitering between them.

He decides to watch Akechi, for research purposes, _obviously_. Trying his best not to overtly stare, but keeping track of his expressions nonetheless. Noting the frustrated crease in his brow and the frown tugging at his pink lips. His fingers type quickly, but the motion seems to be more out of frustration than actual practice, as if he never normally typed on a phone much. His fingers tap against the screen a little too hard and Akira sees him pausing to delete a word or two on more than one occasion.

At one point during Akira’s... _analysis_ , he notices Akechi tense up; his face going pale and his eyes widening slightly in surprise. Akira steps closer to peek over his shoulder, reading the last message.

 ** _[1817] Alibaba:_ **I request that you change Futaba Sakura’s heart.

Akira’s not sure what that means, why Akechi reacted the way he did, or even or how the conversation managed to get there. Before he can ask, more text appears on the screen.

 ** _[1818] Alibaba:_** If you fail in this mission I will expose all of your identities to the world and to the police.

 ** _[1818] Me:_ **We need to know her palace’s distortion.

Akechi continues to type without so much as a word and Akira regards him with surprise.

“Akechi? I thought you didn’t care about stopping Medjed,” Morgana says from where he’d come to stand on Akechi’s other side after he’d finished updating the group. It’s exactly what Akira had been thinking, proving that he and Morgana were always on the same wavelength.

“This isn’t about Medjed,” Akechi snaps distractedly. He pauses then, seeming to collect himself. “Do you not remember your own guardian’s last name?” He asks much more calmly, turning his head to address Akira. “I admit to doing a fair amount of research when I was under the assumption you were the leader of the Phantom Thieves, and Futaba Sakura is the name of Sakura-San’s legally adopted daughter. Do you really not know this?”

“Maybe there’s another Futaba Sakura?” Ann suggests, sounding unsure.

“Unlikely,” Akechi says. He doesn’t say anything for some time after that as he continues typing as if his life depends on it, and Akira and the others exchange worried looks. After a bit of time, Akechi finally takes a deep breath and hands the phone back to Akira, the chat gone from the screen. “They’ve closed the chat,” Akechi says in explanation, “but from my understanding, this Alibaba that we’re speaking to and Futaba Sakura are one in the same.

“Wait what? How do you figure that?” Ann asks.

“Per my research, I came across some information that Futaba’s mother was employed in the study of cognitive research,” Akechi explains, addressing them all. “This would lend credibility to the fact that Futaba would put a great deal more faith in the cognitive world and the stealing of hearts than the average person. Couple this with the fact that this _Alibaba_ wants us to steal the heart of a fifteen-year-old girl who doesn’t even attend school- and you have quite a case for my assumption to be correct.”

“Wow, you came up with all of that in those few minutes you were texin’ them?” says Ryuji, looking at him with wide eyes. Akechi gives him a saccharine smile in response.

“Is that really so surprising?”

Meanwhile Akira, _complicated_ feelings toward Akechi aside, still doesn’t at all trust that smile. There was nothing that he said that Akira would mark as suspicious, but he still has an innate feeling that there’s something he’s missing.

“If what you said is true,” says Yusuke, “Then I also find myself in agreement. They very well could be the same person.”

“Good work, Akechi,” Akira finds himself telling him, putting his suspicions aside for a moment.

“Ah yes, well…” With a slightly stunted nod of acknowledgement towards Akira, Akechi continues. “Unfortunately they ended the chat before I could get everything we would need out of them,” he says, making his way back from behind the counter and back towards the booth seat. “So, I’m afraid we’ll still have to pay a visit to the Sakura-residence.”

Walking over to the booth seat, Akechi starts collecting papers he must at some point taken out, piling them neatly together before placing them back in his briefcase. Apparently, while Akira had been sulking behind the counter with Morgana for company, Akechi had been preparing to brief them on potential targets. Akira’s...not really sure how to feel about that, feeling a little bit like his leader position was being slowly taken away.

“Do you know if Sakura-San is home at the moment?” Akechi asks while he works.

“I don’t think so,” Akira answers him. He at least hoped that was the case at least. He rather liked his dusty old attic and would like to keep it.

Akechi nods, pausing as he considers this. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” he says finally, continuing with his paper collecting.

...Which he was collecting because he was leaving....Leaving to go talk to Futaba at Sojiro’s house.

...Because Akechi actually knew how to take initiative. Like a leader.

_Oh._

“Wait, we’re going _now_?!” Ann blanches, coming to the same conclusion as Akira had.

“I don’t see why a matter like this should wait,” Akechi tells her, expression holding no room for argument. Now that he takes a moment to really look at him, Akira takes note that he’s a lot more tense than usual, a grim sort of determination in his eyes that he’d only seen from him once before.

The first time they’d taken him to Mementos it’d been a Friday after school. Akira knew Akechi had been busy, had noted the deep seated exhaustion lining his face the last time he’d seen him, and had expressly stated that they were only going down there for a few Phansite requests and he could sit it out. Unsurprisingly, Akechi went with them anyway.

The entire time they were there, Akechi looked moments from falling asleep on his feet. But it wasn’t something easily noticed, Akira was almost positive that the rest of the Phantom Thieves were none the wiser. Akechi never complained. He always offered his abilities first, and kept up with every conversation as if nothing was wrong.

And yet there was a moment, when Akira had gotten a glimpse through that mask. Near one of the top floors, everyone was busy talking at the rest-station.

All, except for one.

He’d caught Akechi staring down at the stairway leading deep into the Mementos. Posture tensed, and with that same grim determination that mirrored his expression now.

...As if he was about to do something he really didn’t want to, and yet felt that he _had_ to.

It made sense in Mementos, but Akira’s honestly not quite sure what to make of seeing it now of all times.

“I mean I guess you do have a point,..” Ann says, cutting through his thoughts. Despite her agreement, she doesn’t exactly seem happy about it. Honestly, Akira shares the same feeling. He wasn’t exactly expecting to have to go through a possible break-and-entry routine to find out what was going on with his probationary guardian’s secret adoptive daughter.

Still, it’s not exactly a bad plan, and Akira can admit that he is curious. Out of everything, it’s more so Akechi’s change in attitude about things that gives him pause. He hadn’t expressed any prior concern about Medjed, and now here he was rushing into things without a second thought. It was unlike him.

Which is why, once Akechi finishes collecting his things and the others make their way out of the store, Akira quickly grabs Akechi’s wrist before he can follow after them.

Akechi gives him a questioning look, but he ignores him in favor of nodding to the others who have picked up on the fact that they’ve stopped. While he’s distracted, Akechi dislodges his arm from Akira’s greedy little fingers that have continued to latch onto him as if he might run away.

Akechi does not in fact immediately run for the door, which is probably a good sign.

“Everything alright, dude?” Ryuji asks him, brow crinkled in confusion. Akira gives him a small nod in response.

“You guys go on ahead,” Akira tells him along with the others. “We’ll catch up.”

He doesn’t miss that Ann in particular gives him a strange look, she was probably worried about her new _best friend_. Yeah, okay, so maybe he was still a little bitter. Still, despite the odd looks, no one argues as they make their way out.

“Is there a problem, Kurusu?” Akechi says to him the moment they’re alone, his posture stiff and defensive. Which...wasn’t the ideal reaction that Akira had been expecting. It wasn’t like he was about to punch him in the face before throwing him down on the table and-

_Dammit Akira, not now. Focus._

Tugging a bit at his fringe to distract from his sudden nerves, Akira tries to find the right words. “I just wanted to ask if you were okay,” he settles on for simplicity’s sake.

Akechi blinks at him, the hostility draining from his expression to be replaced with exaggerated confoundment. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” He says, only furthering Akira’s suspicions.

“I don’t know,” Akira shrugs. “You tell me.”

He earns a long look for that. As if Akechi can’t quite figure him out, which Akira finds slightly funny considering he’s pretty much always sliding by the skin of his teeth and has in his opinion been fairly obvious about mostly everything. Just because he liked to shove most of his emotions down into the very small dark pit of his brain and never actually confront them didn’t exactly make him some sort of complex mystery. He is kind of flattered that Akechi still seems to think so though.

Maybe that’d be enough to keep him around.

Akira’s sulk is interrupted when Akechi starts talking again, and he latches onto every word like a drowning man on the verge of falling victim to the sea. Morgana was right, he _really_ needed a distraction. Any more of this and he and his brain were going to find themselves no longer on speaking terms.

“I’m aware that I changed my opinion on all this rather suddenly,” is what Akechi says, his lips pulled into a pensive little frown. “I admit that going forward with this does make me the slightest bit uneasy, but don’t you find it odd that a fifteen-year-old child would request to have her own heart stolen?”

That’s definitely a fair point, Akira thinks. The entire Medjed thing aside, it was a strange thing to want your own heart stolen. Even _if_ she didn’t know the mechanics behind changing hearts, she must have at least seen what happened to the people afterward. Crying and groveling and in Kamoshido’s case wishing for death... It wasn’t exactly pretty, Akira could fully admit that.

So, maybe it was that simple, and he really is just being stupid questioning Akechi’s motives here. Attempting to see things that weren’t really there, as if he knew him better than the others.

“You think she could be in trouble?” Akira asks him seriously.

“Perhaps,” Akechi responds. “I’d at least like to see for myself. Wouldn’t you?”

He really is making a lot of sense, and so Akira can’t help but agree.

***

“So, this is the Sakura residence?” Akechi says while looking up at the house sitting in front of them.

“Well, I sure hope so,” Akira answers him with a shrug, to which Akechi gives him an unamused look. To be fair, Akira actually hasn’t ever been inside the place, since Sojiro had never exactly extended him an invitation.

After they’d met up with the others it hadn’t taken them long to walk the few streets down to Sojiro’s house. A house that was currently pitch black inside, a testament to the fact that Sojiro clearly wasn’t home yet, and Akira very much hoped it stayed that way. He’s not really sure what would be worse- Sojiro coming home to find them all gathered around his house like the world’s lamest group of investigators, or for him to go back to the shop to see that Akira had locked up early without asking permission first. Either one would probably have Akira doing dishes in Leblanc for the rest of his sad teenage existence.

His possible fate only worsens when he watches Akechi walk up and test the door-handle. It’s locked, as he should have guessed. But before Akira can suggest they turn around, go back to Leblanc, and maybe talk to Sojiro so he doesn’t suddenly find himself seventeen and homeless, Akechi takes something out of his pocket and kneels down at the door.

Akira blinks, pure amusement tugging his lips into a conspiratorial grin. “Are you breaking and entering, detective?” But although Akechi glances over his way, he doesn’t immediately answer.

“Should we really be doing this?” Ann asks instead as the lock clicks open. Akechi immediately straightens, taking a moment to crack open the door before looking back at them with an innocent smile.

“As far as I can tell the door was already open,” he says like a person who’s definitely done this before. “And I’ve found myself rather worried about the daughter of the guardian of a friend of mine, so it would be my civic duty to do a wellness check. Would it not?”

It turned out that Akechi was apparently just full of surprises. A little enthralled by this side of him, Akira is the first to move to follow him into the house with a simple, “You got me there.”

When they walk in, the house is completely dark.

Akira can only barely make out Akechi’s form ahead of him as his eyes adjust to the sudden lack of light. As the others pile in behind him he hears a muted curse and a quiet “Watch it!” from Ann. Still, none of them try to find a light-switch, and in a few moments his eyes are significantly more adjusted to the dark.

“Shall we have a look around?” Akechi says in a muted tone, breaking the silence with a pleasant smile. He might just be the biggest dork on the face of the planet, Akira thinks, because who in the world actually said _‘shall’_ unironically. Of all the people Akira could have been attracted to it had to be _him_. Sure the lockpicking was pretty hot, but that didn’t detract from the fact that Goro Akechi still wore sweater vests in the middle of summer and said things like _‘shall’_. Akira might have also thought that was cute, which was another reason to add to the list of why he needed to have his head checked.

That aside, Akira finds himself following Akechi’s lead as they make their way through the darkened expanse of the house. The others, to their credit, keep quiet as they follow behind them. Only Morgana speaks up, popping out of his bag and digging his little claws into the skin of Akira’s shoulder to whisper, “The boss is going to kick us out if he finds out, you know.”

Akira just pats his head in reassurance because he’s certainly not wrong.

It’s only after a bit of time that Ann stops them with a hushed, “Wait guys, I think that might be it.”

Akira follows her gaze and sure enough the door is covered with tape marking _no entry_. So, either Sojiro was hiding some really questionable things, or this was the room of a teenage girl who didn’t want to be disturbed.

They share a collective look with each other, all clearly coming to the same conclusion.

“Well go on, Ann,” Ryuji says in a whisper, jerking his head towards the door. Ann turns towards him with widened eyes.

“What, why me?”

“I dunno, you’re a girl,” Ryuji, the master of intelligence says with a shrug. “Just talk to her or somethin’.”

“If not,” Yusuke cuts in. “I would not be disagreeable to speaking with her.” But Ann shakes her head to Akira’s immense relief. It’s not that he didn’t trust Yusuke, but well, his social skills could really use some work.

“No it’s fine, I’ll do it,“ Ann says, taking a step closer to the door. “Futaba-chan, are you in there?”

They’re met with silence.

“Are we sure that she’s home?” Yusuke asks, but before anyone can answer, Akechi sighs and steps forward to nudge Ann out of the way.

“It’s Alibaba correct?” He says evenly. “I suspect that you’re listening and you’re free to speak through text if you must. We only wish to ask you a few questions. Is that amendable?”

Almost immediately a text notification sound comes from Akira’s phone. He unpockets it to see a message that’s once again from an unknown account.

 ** _[1839] Alibaba:_ **OK.

“She says okay,” Morgana tells them, looking at the screen from over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Akechi says before turning towards Akira with an outstretched hand. “Your phone Kurusu, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Akira hands it over without complaint, and Akechi immediately gets to typing on it with his gloved fingers. Like before, he doesn’t say anything as he types message after message out, and while watching him Akira can’t help but feel the slightest but useless. It was his phone and here he couldn’t even be trusted to be the one handling the information.

Deep down he knows it’s nothing personal. Akechi was a detective so he was the obvious one to trust with something like this, but well, Akira can’t really stop the thought that maybe Akechi would also be a better leader in general. It’s not that Akira ever _wanted_ to be a leader, it was something that kind of just happened. And yet an ugly feeling gathers in the pit of his stomach, and there’s a part of him that wonders what will happen once they don’t need him anymore.

“Try _‘tomb’_ ,” Akechi says suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

Ryuji, lightning-fast, takes his phone from his pocket. “Futaba Sakura, Sojiro Sakura’s house, _tomb_ ,” he lists off before anyone can make any move to stop him.

“Not here you idiot!” Ann hisses, but it’s already too late.

“Coordinates found. Beginning Navigation,” the nav chimes, and the world instantly warps around them.

***

The first thing Akira registers is that it’s hot.

Completely _ungodly_ hot. As in, worse than it was that day at the fair, which Akira previously didn’t think could have been possible. Apparently, the world just loved proving him wrong.

The second thing Akira registers is the reason _why_ it’s so hot.

“It’s a desert…” Yusuke says, echoing his very same monumental conclusion.

Akira’s not really sure what he’d been expecting when applied to a keyword of _‘tomb’_ , but an endless sea of deadly sand wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. Maybe a graveyard or an underground crypt. Somewhere dark, cold, and probably creepy, but it at least wouldn’t be causing his skin to melt off like it was now.

“Wait, what the-- Our clothes are still the same?” Ryuji voices, and Akira realizes he had been so distracted by _sand_ that he hadn’t even noticed. Typical.

“Futaba herself is asking us to steal her heart,” Morgana says in answer, the only one of them to have changed into his Metaverse attire. Or well, his Metaverse _form_. He wouldn’t really classify a fanny pack as being _attire_. But then did that mean that Morgana was naked in the Metaverse? “It’d be odd if she saw us as a threat,” Morgana continues, oblivious to Akira’s newest train of thought. “If she doesn’t see us as an enemy, then your clothes don’t change. That’s how it works.”

“Clothing aside, that was rather careless of you to activate the app, Sakamoto,” Akechi cuts in just as Akira is concluding that cats by nature are never in fact naked. That’s why they had fur.

“Hey, you’re the one who told me to try _‘tomb’!?_ ” Ryuji shoots back at him in an attempt to defend himself, only causing Akechi’s eyes to narrow at him in response.

“Are you really so dull as to assume I meant right then and there?”

“And just who are you calling _dull_?!”

Before things can escalate further, Akechi backs off with a shake of his head. “We’re wasting time,” he says and turns his gaze to the endless sea of sand. “Since Futaba seems determined to keep people away from her, and her palace is a tomb, I’m under the assumption that her actual palace is quite a fair distance away from here.” Turning towards their fur-outfitted companion, he adds, “Does that sound right to you, Morgana?”

“Huh me?” Morgana says, looking surprised to be the one being addressed. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Still, it does occur to Akira that if the palace was still a distance away then that meant that Morgana would need to be the one to drive them there. And personally, Akira wasn’t sure he could convince himself to walk two feet in these conditions, rather than having to transport all of them that entire way.

“Can you drive us in this heat?” Akira asks him.

“Of course I can,” Morgana dismisses his worrying with a puff of his little chest. “Just who do you think you’re talking to?”

And without another word, Mona is already shifting into the Monabus. Akira might have argued more if he wasn’t so desperate to get out of the heat himself, and so he and the others all quickly move to pile in. Akechi immediately takes the spot behind the wheel as he’s grown accustomed to doing, but before Akira can even think about taking the passenger seat, Ann is already sliding next to him. Trying his best not to openly pout, Akira is forced to sit with Ryuji and Yusuke in the back.

It is...a long drive.

As for how long they’re stuck driving, Akira can’t really say, especially considering he’s almost positive that time doesn’t work the same way in the Metaverse anyway. What he does know, is that somehow it only seems to get impossibly hotter the longer they drive. Akira might not have ever been inside an active volcano before, but he thinks it probably feels very similar to the inside of their ride.

Akira tries to find any way to distract himself, which unsurprisingly means he ends up focusing all his attention on his mind’s new favorite topic: namely- Akechi. Akechi who’s still wearing a white dress shirt and yet still seems to be entirely unaffected by the heat, not voicing a single sound of complaint as he drives. Still, Akira finds himself focusing on the beads of sweat gathering at his neck as he moves some of his hair aside. It makes him kind of wish that he had a hair-tie on him so that he could offer to tie it up. Of all the things he kept in his dimension defying pockets for these missions, and he’s pretty sure he didn’t have a single hair-tie. It was a crime, really.

Not that Akechi would have allowed him to tie his hair up for him anyway. Still, a guy could dream.

And yet, as he watches him, something else registers. Inspecting his side profile, Akira gets to see a peek of that very same expression that he’d seen on him before. Grim yet determined. The hands on the steering wheel are gripping it with just a bit too much force, enough that Akira imagines that the skin of his knuckles would be white under his gloves. Something is bothering him beyond normal worrying as he’d previously claimed.

Akira just really wishes he knew what that was.

When he’s met with an intense maroon set of eyes, he takes his cue to look away. Choosing to spend the rest of the ride focusing on the giant hills of sand while trying to calm his embarrassment. He _swears_ he used to be cool.

It’s not too much longer before they come across what they all unanimously decide has to be the palace. What else could a gigantic pyramid in the middle of a desert mean if it wasn’t Futaba’s _tomb?_

It’s...a sobering thought.

They exchange a few words at the entrance as they plot their next movements, but it’s very quickly decided that walking straight into the giant pyramid is their most logical course of action.

The first thing Akira notices when entering the palace is that the pyramid is a lot cooler than he would have expected.

“Whoa, it’s so nice inside!” Ryuji says echoing his thoughts. “Is this place air-conditioned or something?”

“The cognitive world does reflect the real world, after all,” Akechi says to him in a quick response. “Now, let’s hurry.”

They run up a nearly infinite amount of stairs. Almost never-ending. Just generally... _way_ too many stairs. Akira is suddenly very thankful that the Metaverse always makes him feel weightless because otherwise he’s almost certain he would have passed out and died by now. Air-conditioned or not, running up this amount of stairs was not in his list of physical abilities in the real world.

When they’re finally just about at the top, their way is stopped by a lone figure. She’s small and dressed in Egyptian-style clothing that Akira’s pretty sure he’s seen in some old TV show at some point. Or maybe all Egyptian Pharaohs wore the same outfit. He never claimed to be great at history, his crossword puzzles never taught him this.

“That’s Futaba’s Shadow,” Morgana voices what Akira had already been assuming. “It isn’t the real her.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Akira notices Akechi staring at her with something unreadable in his expression. And as the rest of the Phantom Thieves try to talk to the shadow, he stays strangely quiet. It’s enough to drag Akira’s attention away from what the others are saying.

There’s a heated look on Akechi, as if he might snap at any moment. And yet, there’s something _else_ there- minute and unnoticeable at first glance. It’s in the way he looks at the shadow before them. Gaze sightless as if he’s a million miles away, lost in the confines of his own mind. It’s an expression Akira has never seen on him before, and he can’t help but wonder what it was about Futaba’s shadow that was bringing him back to somewhere Akira couldn’t follow.

“Hey, where’s the treasure?” He dully registers Ryuji blatantly asking the shadow. Akira moves his attention away from Akechi just in time to see Ann shoot Ryuji a harsh look.

“I’m sorry, Futaba-chan,” she says, softening her expression as she turns to the shadow. “It’s okay, there’s no need to be scared. So, can you tell us where your most treasured possession is?”

Rather unsurprisingly. the shadow doesn’t instantly oblige them. Ann did have the right spirit though, Akira could appreciate the effort.

“This is going nowhere...” Yusuke says, and Akira catches Akechi’s hands clench into fists at his sides.

“Will you guys shut up for a bit!?” Ann snaps.

“Those who plunder my tomb,” says the shadow. “Why have you come?”

And well, for all the palace business he’s been doing, Akira can’t deny the certain thrill her words bring him. All serious business aside, her words remind him that he’s standing within a giant pyramid in the middle of a desert, and this wasn’t exactly where he thought he’d end up earlier this afternoon. This might very well make him a tomb raider about to enact some 100 year old curse like they always allude to in old movies.

“There is no way that you can steal it,” the shadow continues to speak while Akira is still debating whether or not curses would be considered status effects and if they would thereby be cured by an Amrita Shower. It occurs to him that probably shouldn’t be so willing to test that theory.

Of course, he’s distracted from that particular train of thought when the _voices_ start.

_It’s your fault._

_Murderer._

_You’re the one who killed her._

Futaba’s shadow crumples on the ground in front of them, hands clutching at her head.

Akira has no idea what to make of this newest development, but dread curls around his insides. This...wasn’t good. Glancing towards Akechi, he finds him completely still, his face ashen.

“...That’s right. I did it,” the shadow speaks, and Akechi takes a step backward, looking like he’s going to be sick. “I am the one who killed my mother.”

Akechi, for the first time since he met him, looks _horrified_.

A lot of things happen very quickly after that.

Their clothes change into their Metaverse equivalents, marking them as a threat in the palace. Futaba's shadow disappears without a trace; there one second, and the next _gone_ \- slipped through their fingers like water. Before they have any real time to process any of that, they’re forced to flee for their lives as a giant boulder chases them out of the pyramid.

And yet, through it all, Akira can’t get the look on Akechi’s face out of his head.

***

“I still don’t understand why we felt it was necessary to leave,” Akechi says to them once they’re safely outside of the palace. According to the time, only about an hour has passed since they first entered the palace, and Sojiro hasn’t yet returned so they’d been able to leave the house without answering any questions. As for LeBlanc? Akira wasn’t sure if he was there yet considering they had decided to once again gather in front of his house. But he was still hopeful that he’d still have a place to sleep by the end of the night. “Do the illustrious _Phantom Thieves_ really get scared off so easily?” Akechi finishes, reminding Akira a lot of a bristling cat.

“We can’t just rush into everything,” Morgana, Akira’s actual cat says very calmly, his little paws resting in Akira’s wild mess of hair. “You saw all those defenses go up, we needed to regroup.”

“We don’t want to be careless,” Yusuke adds.

Akechi’s gaze flips between them. Looking as if he’s realized he’s been outnumbered, he crosses his arms indignantly. “Fine,” he says stiffly. “Then I highly suggest we head back in immediately after school tomorrow. We’ll meet at Leblanc as usual.” He goes to stride past them with one final, “ _Goodnight_ ,” but Akira catches his shoulder, stopping him.

“Akechi, wait-”

_Are you okay?_

_Did you want to talk?_

_Do you even like me?_

Akira’s not entirely sure what he intends to say, and the last option he knows is juvenile and stupid and he would probably rather die than say it, even if he really was curious as to the answer. Still, he doesn’t get a chance to ask any of those things since Akechi immediately shakes him off with a harsh glare. “I’m _fine_ , Kurusu.”

And so, all Akira can do is watch him walk away.

***

As anyone could have guessed, Akechi was _not_ fine.

He was in fact, _very extremely noticeably_ not fine.

It didn’t exactly take a genius to tell that something was clearly bothering him, and by their worried glances it becomes abundantly clear that the rest of the Phantom Thieves have picked up on it too. As per Akechi’s request, they do end up going into the palace again the very next day, and yet the entire time something is off with him and it has a profound effect on their entire team dynamic, with no one knowing quite what to say to him or how to act.

Panther attempts starting up a conversation with him on a few occasions when they have a bit of time to breathe between fighting shadows and disarming traps. But even she’s met with what’s essentially a cold shoulder as she receives only brisk one word answers in response.

And well, somewhere down the line, _Joker_ ends up feeling more like Akira; his bravado failing him for the first time since he’s gotten himself involved in all of this. He feels like a failure of a leader, and a failure of a friend, and he has no idea how he’s supposed to fix that. Instead, he notices how Crow goes completely quiet during the time they spend in safe rooms, staring at the door leading back to the palace as if it personally offended him- almost as if he thought spending time recovering and regrouping was nothing but a waste of time. Joker sees how he repeatedly seems to get lost somewhere far in his head, always pushing forward with grim determination without stopping. He sees all of this, and yet feels powerless to do anything about it.

There’s a small part of Joker that wishes that he could be anyone else. Someone who Crow trusted, someone who he felt comfortable enough to talk to. At one point he almost asks Panther to talk to Crow for him, but then changes his mind at the last second. Which...leaves him right back to where he started- feeling useless and a bit like a coward.

He can at the very least relate to Crow in one way: he too wanted to get this palace done and over with as quickly as possible.

***

At some point through the never-ending shadows, puzzles, and tense silences, they reach a single control panel.

It’s in the middle of the room in a way that makes it obvious that Joker needs to do something with it in order to move forward. And so, he does. Turning on the display, and for his efforts he gets rewarded with a scrambled picture- in the grand scheme of possible rewards, it’s not a very good one. At least it doesn’t take much for Joker to unscramble it, and once he’s finished he’s greeted with a portrait of Futaba on a throne as she’s being presented with something. Joker tilts his head at it curiously, not really sure what he was supposed to be getting from this.

“This adult seems to be reading something to a crying child…?” Fox says. “The emotions of the artist are often depicted in the art they produce. I can sense...serious pain harbored in her heart.”

Joker wouldn’t consider himself a person with an eye for art, but he definitely understands what he means. There’s something about the painting that makes him upset in a way he can’t quite explain. Maybe it’s the atmosphere of the palace or maybe it’s something else, but his heart _hurts_ for her.

From behind him he hears a sharp intake of breath, and yet, before he can turn and see who it is, the voices start again.

_I should have never had Futaba...She was always such a bother._

_It seems you caused your mother a great deal of trouble, Futaba-chan..._

_She must have had some kind of maternity neurosis…_

And as quickly as they come, the voices fade away until only the somber air remains. They watch in silence as the art is shattered before them by the light of the panel, revealing the way forward.

The silence they’ve found themselves in is broken when Crow starts to _laugh_.

“Maternity neurosis...what a load of horse _shit_ ,” Crow spits out, before Joker gets the chance to ask if he’s lost his mind. “Who the **_fuck_ **tells a little girl that her mother killed herself because of **_her_**!?”

“Crow!?” Panther squeaks out, but he ignores her in favor of spitting out another harsh curse.

Joker finds himself at a loss of what to do. He and the others all look at each other in a mixture of awe and concern as Crow’s detective prince persona falls to the ground. His eyes bright and _wild_ in a way Joker has only ever seen glimpses of while in the throws of battle, now it seemed he was lost in it. Consumed by it even.

“Crow did you need-”

“I’m _**fine**_ , Joker!” He whirls on him before Joker can even get the words out. “Just let me _kill_ something!”

There’s something deep within Joker that alights at the sudden ferocity. That wants to lash back with everything that he has with his dagger at the ready and a smirk that never fades.

“Okay,” he says, pushing the feeling back down before he can do something he might regret. “Let’s get going then.”

***

Joker is well aware that being a leader has never exactly been his strong suit. Under ordinary circumstances he defaulted to following his gut instincts, which didn’t always pan out the way he wanted to. His probationary status was one such result, and although he could never see himself regretting what happened that night, it did come with the added bonus of every single adult he came into contact with telling him to mind his own damn business.

Maybe that would explain why he’s so hesitant to confront Crow. Or maybe that was just another excuse in the grand scheme of things. If Akira had a palace, maybe he’d come to discover that it was just one simple room, a single chair and a desk, and he’d sit there in complete monotonous silence until whatever it was his mind thought of as _Joker_ would get so bored with him that he’d show up just to kill him. Then again, there was also a chance that it could be something much cooler, like a water park. He never got to go to one of those as a kid, but it seems like the exact type of stupid metaphor his brain would come up with. The first one still seemed a bit more likely, but well, he’s already accepted the fact that his brain might very well be broken and he was still waiting for a new one.

As it turned out, in reference to his no-good-very-bad crush on Goro Akechi, he also may or may not have a danger kink. And he decided to discover this at the absolute worst time possible, or in other words, the moment that they’d encountered a very powerful Anubis and Crow had promptly launched himself at it with a growl and almost single-handedly beat the shit out of it.

Joker had stood there, jaw on the floor, as the shadow vanished after its defeat, falling victim to one teenage boy with an overwhelming need to tear apart anything in his path. There was a part of Akira that realized that a blind rage of that intensity couldn’t exactly be healthy, but there was another part of his broken brain that was too busy thinking that Crow might be the hottest thing he’s ever seen to care.

And yet, as they continue through the palace, it becomes harder to ignore that Crow was clearly hurting. Something here had gotten its claws in him and was making him lash out mindlessly. With every door they go through, every puzzle they solve or new piece of information they learn, it just seems to fuel his rage even more. Joker doesn’t know how to stop it, doesn’t know if he even wants to. Which probably makes him a terrible person.

It’s why he stays quiet. Pretends this is just a normal mission and doesn’t try to confront Crow. It doesn’t help that he’s terrified that any interference on his end might just anger him more, or make him draw even further away.

One thing Joker was quickly learning about having a crush was that it was making him even more of a coward. Some Phantom Thief he was.

It’s a thought that never really leaves his mind. Distracting him to the point that it’s the strength behind Crow’s fury that actually gets them through most of their battles, as Joker finds himself drawing back and mainly focusing on healing.

It all accumulates up until the very end. The impenetrable door in front of them at the top of the stairs. Crow stares up at it as if his glare alone would be enough to break through, looking small in front of the backdrop of the massive door. If it wasn’t for the shadow grime lingering on his skin and white princely attire, no one would ever be able to tell that he’d almost single-handedly ripped his way through this entire palace. And yet, Joker notices how his breathing seems labored, and on closer inspection...he’s _shaking_.

“Crow...are you okay?” Panther asks tentatively, breaking the silence as she clearly picks up on the same thing that Joker has. Crow doesn’t respond and instead turns away, avoiding looking at any of them.

Joker...feels like the world’s greatest asshole.

“Let’s go home for the day,” he says like he should have a long time ago, feeling _Joker_ slide back into place and tinge his words with authority.

If he was going to be a leader, then it was about time he started acting like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was nearly 9k and I don't know who I am anymore.  
> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and/or left kudos!! We really really appreciate it!!


	8. GORO IV: In Your Heart Shall Burn

When Goro was fifteen, stupid, and angry, Shido had introduced him to Wakaba Isshiki. 

There was a lot he had buried about her, sealed in a sarcophagus with a cement shell ten metres thick like his own cognitive Chernobyl, but some of her metaphorical bones jutted out through the casing of her mental coffin, little factoids like _‘she had her coffee with three sugars and milk’_ and _‘when i shot her shadow i learned how loud she could scream’_ and _‘her nickname for me was red because she knew i loved featherman’_ and _‘in her heart of hearts i was expendable’_ and-

There was a lot.

Her Palace ( _a futuristic clocktower, continuously counting down towards an unreachable enlightenment, never fast enough, never enough_ time _to grasp it-!)_ had been too memorable to bury beneath the concrete shell - it had never kept him out, whenever he had prowled into it. Wakaba had been both a researcher and a labrat - Goro was the infiltrator, and she offered her Palace up as the testing grounds, recording changes in her own behaviours and physiological reactions to his meddling.

_(“The next stage will be how the cognitive translates to the physical. Do you exist as a cognitive entity in the Metaverse? Or is your physical form crossing the boundary without change? If you’re injured, do these wounds carry over? Akechi, do you consent to-”)_

It had been a professional relationship. Clinical. Cold. Distant. Wakaba had been the labrat and researcher both, and Goro just the labrat. Still, sometimes a crack of humanity would slip through the forced distance. Sometimes, they would talk, and sometimes Wakaba would mention her daughter, off hand, traces of discomfort in her tone when she realised her test subject wasn’t much older than her child. Maybe she thought about how easy it would be for Futaba to take his place. Maybe that was why Wakaba squeezed out every drop of revelation out of him, because by then he had been-

Wakaba had loved Futaba with all of her heart. Enough that she had sacrificed Goro to spare her his fate. Why should Wakaba care about him? He was the labrat - _Shido’s_ labrat. The choice was obvious.

Goro had seen the evidence of it himself in her Palace. In the heart of it, locked behind the grinding cogs and hissing pistons of the clocktower, a humble home had existed within. It had been a simple apartment, and inside a Cognitive Futaba had lived; tinkering away at her computer, or playing her video games, her cheeks chubby with puppy fat and her oversized glasses sliding down her nose. Unlike other Cognitive people Goro would meet in the future, Futaba had never seemed like an idealised version of herself, or a caricature. She had just been Futaba. 

The door to that humble home had never been locked to Goro. It had always opened, easily, and Cognitive Futaba had always been there to-

_(“There’s a cognitive version of my daughter inside my heart? Interesting. Can you describe your interactions with her?”)_

It had been a glimmer of a bright spot in the hell he had willingly stepped foot into. Wakaba’s increasing reluctance, the demands to push push _push,_ then the snap-crack-shatter when Loki came screaming to life, then Shido saying, lightly, _‘well, it’s time to tie up that loose end, isn’t it’_ and then the order and him standing in that warm, fake home with the pistol where the door always opened to him and- 

No. No. He forgot that for a reason. He didn’t _want_ to _think about it-_

But the evidence of that horrible act was screaming at him in the face. He had done what he was ordered to _(necessary collateral for my revenge, he told himself over and over)_ and he had crushed the memories down, down, down where Loki lived and made himself forget. Now they were bubbling back up like half-rotted, bloated corpses, and he struggled to compartmentalise the Shadow of Futaba with the Cognition of Futaba-

_(“Heya, Red,” Cognitive Futaba greeted him, her smile entirely genuine as he crept into the fake home in Wakaba’s heart, still unused to the open warmth and safety it offered, “You wanna play with me?”_

_“It’s my fault. I killed her,” Shadow Futaba rasped, her eyes reflecting an emptiness Goro had seen too many times in his own, “I killed my mother.”)_

His ribcage felt too brittle to contain this nauseous pressure straining against his sternum. There was a moment, in the space between breaths, where he felt like his emotions were going to explode and carve out an ugly rupture, expelling the poison and bile inside. His fingers twitched, barely holding back the urge to clutch at his chest, just to make sure, make sure...

The glare reflecting off the glossy police tape and locks shimmered. The door leading to Futaba’s heart was keeping him out _(as it should),_ and in that space between breaths where everything inside of him felt too volatile and too dead at once, he thought, for one red-hazed moment, of simply bulldozing through, just to get this torture over with.

He knew from experience it was possible to brute force it. If your willpower was stronger than the fragile walls of a person’s heart, you could do anything, crush everything, tear a bleeding, gaping hole right in there and burn them from the inside out. Make them squirm and wail and scream with the same agony as you - it was easy enough, just summon Loki, and strike and strike and strike until this mocking reminder of his clumsy tumble into murder was pulverised into unrecognisable paste, gone and gone _and gone-_

 _(It was after Loki had been dragged out of him. It was after Wakaba finally obtained the answer she’d been seeking in her research, and Goro was left panting and retching, an awful emptiness cut into the very core of him. Something was wrong, something was very wrong inside of him, something had_ **_broken_ ** _but he had to endure, he had to, for-)_

-but that was impossible now. The Phantom Thieves were staring at him. He had to keep enduring. 

“Crow?” Ann’s voice, quiet and uncertain, “Are you okay?”

Goro’s gaze slid away from the locked door to Futaba’s heart and didn’t answer. 

* * *

Joker was watching him. 

He’d been watching him the moment this mess with Futaba started, from Leblanc all the way to now, when they left the Palace behind and stepped into the blinding sun of reality. There was an air of tension thrumming through them all, one Goro wilfully ignored, and didn’t even bother saying goodbye as he stalked away from them.

He needed some time alone, some isolation to smother these emotions inside of him. He felt unbalanced, teetering one side to the other, too much Loki, not enough Robin Hood, Detective Prince shattered on the floor, Akechi Goro’s true ugly self snarling through the cracks. He’ll have to think of an excuse for the others when they asked about his behaviour. 

It took him too long to realise there was someone else with him, halfway back to the train station. He stopped, and the footsteps stopped just behind him. He knew it was Kurusu before he even turned to look. 

“What,” he asked.

Kurusu rarely confronted him directly - and the few times he did, he easily capitulated to whatever excuses or front Goro presented him with. Kurusu always watched, though, with those too keen, observant eyes, cataloguing Goro’s every move. Goro didn’t know what Kurusu had deduced from his observations alone, what he thought of them, what he thought of _him._

“We should take a walk,” Kurusu said in a voice that was entirely Joker. Firm, resolute, brooking no argument.

Unfortunately, Goro was spoiling for an argument. He felt his anger splinter through his dull apathy instantly, his mouth pulling into a sharp little smile.

“Should we,” Goro said, “Why is that?”

“Your behaviour today,” Kurusu replied, and there was a moment of hesitation, like he was carefully picking his words, “Something’s bothering you.”

“I am always amazed by your powers of deduction, Kurusu,” Goro said with faux-pleasantness, “It’s none of your business.”

Kurusu took a step forward. Goro stifled the instinct to step back, refusing to retreat.

“It is when it impacts team cohesion,” Kurusu said with quiet authority.

“Team cohesion.”

“Everyone was on edge around you,” Kurusu continued, “You charged into fights recklessly without consulting us. You put yourself in needless danger-”

Goro couldn’t help it. He laughed right into Kurusu’s face. Danger? _Him?_ He was the most dangerous fucking thing in that Palace, the Shadows so weak they were barely a blip on his radar. The Phantom Thieves should’ve been _thanking him_ for easing the way forwards, so quick to exhaustion as they were. 

“Was I hurt?” Goro asked a very unimpressed Kurusu, “No. While I was, as you say, _reckless,_ I know my limits well enough, even when angry.”

“You weren’t just _angry,”_ Kurusu said, and those too keen eyes kept him pinned down. Goro felt like he was being dissected, “Something about Futaba’s Palace is hitting a nerve for you.”

Fuck him. Fuck this piece of shit-

“It’s none,” Goro bit out, “of your _business.”_

Kurusu said nothing. He just held his gaze, expression pure Joker. It felt like the very core of his being was being stared into, and every inch of Goro trembled to retreat. He chafed at losing, but a tactical retreat was necessary from time to time to win the war. He couldn’t let Kurusu… what, exactly?

What could Goro even say? Not even he fully understood his feelings about this whole fucked up situation. Wakaba, Futaba, the blood on his hands - how did he even get into that without implicating himself? He couldn’t. Couldn’t say that this awful, nauseous feeling in his gut from seeing Futaba cowering on the ground, the voices screaming at her - murderer, murderer, if only you didn’t exist, your mother would-

Your mother would…

Goro looked away first. 

“Akechi,” Kurusu said, very quietly. 

“I’m not discussing it in the middle of the street,” Goro muttered, turning away from him, “Take me to Leblanc.”

Kurusu practically leapt to obey, leading their way to the cafe. Nothing was said between them as they walked, Goro’s insides feeling like Loki was chewing through them. He didn’t know what to say - no, that was a lie, he knew _exactly_ what to say, to make Kurusu and the others back off about this, but it would be exposing a private piece of himself that he selfishly kept hidden, out of shame, out of… 

_(your mother would…)_

If Goro had never awakened his Persona, he was sure he would have ended up like Futaba. Guilt and self-blame over his mother’s death slowly suffocating him until nothing but a shell was left. Certainly, enough people told him that it was his fault his mother died. If only he didn’t have the gall to be born, if only he didn’t require her to quit her job and take on lowly part time jobs to support him, if only she didn’t choose him over herself. He faintly recalled his mother being involved in the Cognitive Psience field before she met Shido, and a lot of great things had been expected of her. 

Shido. 

It had never been _Goro’s_ fault. It had been _Shido’s._ Maybe it would’ve been better if Goro had never been born, but it was Shido who started this whole tragedy, _his_ fault for driving his mother out and into complete misery, _his fault for_ -

It didn’t matter. Karma will be coming for him soon. 

Leblanc was empty, as per usual, when they entered. They exchange very brief pleasantries with Sakura-san, Goro pretending to be human enough to pass without suspicion, and they climbed up the stairs and into Kurusu’s awful attic room. He wondered where Morgana was. 

They stood in the middle of the room and stared at each other. Kurusu didn’t prompt him. He just waited, that unreadable stare pinning him in place. 

_what the hell are you thinking?_ He wanted to ask, _i can’t read you at all._

“You’re correct,” Goro finally said, breaking the awkward silence, “Futaba’s Palace is hitting a raw nerve.” 

Kurusu tilted his head a fraction, still saying nothing. 

The silence prompted explanation. Goro resisted it long enough to fidget with his gloves, idly tugging at them. How to phrase this? How to phrase it in a way that would make Kurusu back off, but also not pity him? There was no way. So just go for it. Like tearing out a knife lodged hilt deep in your thigh. Just rip it out. 

“Our circumstances are… similar,” Goro said stiltedly, staring very intently at Kurusu’s potted plant, “My mother killed herself when I was a child, and it was considered my fault.” Deep breath. In, out. “Obviously, I don’t believe that anymore. I understand that there were many outside factors resulting in her- _decision_ , but emotions rarely obey rationality at the best of times.” 

He turned a very pleasant, artificial smile Kurusu’s way, “I would appreciate it if you never breathed a word about this to anyone. I refuse to let _anyone_ pity me over this information. Understand?”

Kurusu was quiet for a few beats, then; “I won’t tell a soul.”

“Good,” Goro shifted his weight, “So, now you know why I was… _agitated._ I promise you, I will be far more composed for our next infiltration. I was- taken off guard, I hadn’t expected… well, it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. I apologise for making things uncomfortable for you and the others.” 

“You don’t have to force yourself,” Kurusu said, and for a brief moment, Goro thought he meant his pleasant facade, but then he continued; “If you need to sit out, I understand-”

“Sit out?” Goro stared at him, “Why would I _sit out?”_

“It’s upsetting you,” Kurusu said, giving him a look like he thought Goro was being weird.

“I told you, it won’t happen again,” Goro said carefully, unsure if Kurusu was underestimating him or not. Did he really think Goro was at risk of being ineffectual due to his _trauma?_ Did he think him weak? “I won’t disrupt ‘team cohesion’ next time. _”_

“That isn’t what I’m-” Goro got to witness a rare moment of frustration flitting across Kurusu’s face, “I’m just worried, Akechi.”

“Well, _stop_ worrying,” Goro snapped, “I don’t need your pity, Kurusu.”

“I don’t pity you,” Kurusu said quietly, but he was a miserable liar. 

Goro said nothing. He glared at him, until Kurusu looked away with a heavy sigh and fidgeted with his fringe. 

“...let’s take a break, at least,” Kurusu said, “A week or something, to let you, uh, decompress.”

“A week where Futaba continues to be tormented by her own distorted cognition. How kind of you,” Goro said acerbically. 

Kurusu grimaced, but he didn’t rise to the bait. He looked Goro right in the eye and said, every inch a leader, “We’re taking a break.” 

Goro worked his jaw, wondering if maybe he could sneak into the Palace behind their backs - but no, his way was barred by that cognitive barrier, and he would need Kurusu, at the very least, to converse with Futaba in the real world to open it. He was certain Sojiro wouldn’t be pleased if he found Goro alone with his adopted daughter and no Kurusu to act as a buffer. 

“Fine,” he practically snarled the word. 

“Fine,” Kurusu repeated, sounding very very tired. 

“Fine,” Goro finished, “If that’s all, I should go enjoy my enforced _break_ to its fullest.”

Kurusu looked a little like a kicked puppy, deflating at his harsh words - which was _rich._ Whatever hurt Kurusu was experiencing was _completely self-inflicted._ If he really cared about Goro, he would let them blast through Futaba’s Palace at full force, instead of letting it hang like a spectre of death. Every day they let slip by was another day that Futaba slid further and further into despair, one caused by Goro’s own hands, not hers, no matter what she thought. 

_(“You know, I wish we could meet in the real world,” Cognitive Futaba said, not looking away from her computer screen. On it flickered graphs and test results from yesterday’s experiments: Wakaba’s subconsciousness churning over them through her daughter’s cognition, “I think we’d be good friends.”_

_Wakaba will never let us meet, Goro thought but did not say. This was Wakaba’s internal desire. Somewhere deep inside, she wished she could let them meet, but reality, and her rational thoughts, and Goro knew better. The wish was cheap. Easily given for quick comfort, but possessed no durability._

_Still. It was a nice sentiment, even if friends were a weakness Goro couldn’t afford._

_“I think so too,” Goro lied, and smiled, genuinely, when Cognitive Futaba turned to him with a pleased grin-)_

He… he had to fix it. 

He had to fix this one little thing. It had no impact on Shido whether or not Wakaba’s daughter recovered from her despair. It _had no impact._ It shouldn’t. So it should be fine, this selfish altruism. It should be fine. It was fine. It wasn’t as if she’d gain a Persona from it, become yet another _threat_ that will need to be, eventually, neutralised.

 _(why did his stomach twist at the thought of...)_

“I was wondering,” Kurusu said a little timidly, a far cry from the straight-backed leader he’d been mere moments ago, “If you’d want to join me somewhere.”

The invitation was so bizarre and at odds with the tense, near hostile mood, that Goro could only stare at him in bewilderment, too confused to snap at him. 

“Join you- where?” he asked. 

“The aquarium?” Kurusu suggested, “I got some tickets from this person I know, and it’s for two, and looking at fish is… relaxing.”

Goro stared at him some more. 

“The aquarium,” he repeated, just to make sure. This was some emotional whiplash right here, “You want to take me to the aquarium?”

Kurusu’s gaze darted from him, to the potted plant, to the ceiling, before settling on him again, a mix of bravery and nervousness warring over his face, “Yes.” 

_i really don’t understand you!_ Goro mentally groaned, and he lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. What was this? An attempt to throw Goro further off-kilter? A genuine, albeit _poorly timed_ peace offering? Some convoluted 5D chess move to divine Goro's true motives? He was too exhausted to puzzle it out. 

_well, the best strategy for traps is to spring them,_ he thought irritably. 

“Fine,” he said, “Send me the date and time and I’ll make room for it. This better be a good aquarium.” 

Kurusu lit up, his metaphorical tail wagging at his belligerent acceptance.

Goro squinted at him suspiciously. Was he happy because he thought he tricked Goro into doing something? 

“If that’s all,” he continued stiltedly, his bitter mood upended entirely into something strange and indescribable. He had no idea what his mood was right now and it was all Kurusu’s fault, “I’m going now.”

Kurusu nodded, “Get some rest, Crow.”

“...Yes,” Goro replied belatedly, giving him one last look before leaving his attic room. 

What a weirdo. 

* * *

It was two in the morning and Goro jerked awake from a nightmare regurgitated from memories he had long since suffocated. 

He breathed evenly through the staccato rhythm of his heartbeat, fists clenched into his bed sheets, glaring up at the ceiling as he brutally stomped the lingering dream flat. He could still see it in his mind’s eye; the sticky red on his fingers as he gripped Mother’s arm, trying to get her out of the bathtub- 

“Fuck,” he hissed, sitting up. 

He wasn’t going to go back to sleep at this rate. 

He ended up in front of the TV, wrapped up in his duvet like some caterpillar in a half-constructed cocoon, blearily watching some late-night news reel without really listening. It was speculation on the psychotic breakdowns and mental shutdowns - how the authorities were clueless on their cause - another clip of Shido galvanising his followers with promises he was never going to follow through, another segment on Medjed and its past activities, how it began mostly to expose the corruption of corporations and governments, only to slowly become more self-serving over the past two years. 

Two years…

Goro felt like he was forgetting something, staring at the Medjed symbol with a heavy-lidded gaze. He had heard of Medjed before - and he didn’t mean that rambling insanity Kitagawa had posted into the Phantom Thieves chat. It might’ve been a conversation he had with Wakaba, when they first entered the public eye after publishing the emails of some CEO of some corporation.

The memory was there, but it was too fogged and sharp-edged for him to inspect closely. He let it go with a sigh. 

It was unimportant, anyway. Once they rescued Futaba, she would deal with them, and Medjed will go away. Hopefully he’ll stop being _asked_ about them in interviews too. There were only so many times he could call them _irrelevant_ without people starting to question his competency. 

His phone buzzed abruptly, and for a moment Goro felt his heart snap into his throat, briefly terrified it was Shido - then quickly smothered that reaction, embarrassed for himself as he fished it out of his blanket cocoon. It was his personal one - Shido never messaged him on it. Stupid. 

_[0232] Ann: hey goro_

_[0232] Ann: you still up?_

Goro squinted in disbelief. 

_[0233] Me: It’s 2:30am_

_[0233] Me: Why are you awake?_

_[0234] Ann: can ask the same of you lol_

_[0234] Ann: idk i couldnt sleep after futabas palace_

_[0234] Ann: and i wanted to check up on you_

_[0235] Ann: i know akira spoke to you and stuff but i just wanted to see if you were good?_

_[0235] Ann: you werent yourself today_

Oh, how little Ann knew. Goro was _exactly_ like himself in Futaba’s Palace. He chewed on his bottom lip, then stopped before he bit through it - he had an interview tomorrow, he couldn’t have marks - and tapped his fingernail against the edge of his phone. The concern was… unwelcome, but it made him feel oddly too. Not negatively, not really positively, just. Odd. 

_[0239] Me: I’m fine._

_[0239] Ann: lol_

_[0240] Me: Okay, I’m not._

_[0240] Me: But it’s fine, regardless._

_[0240] Me: I’m dealing with it._

_[0241] Ann: if youre sure_

_[0241] Me: I’m sure._

_[0241] Ann: okay then watch a movie with me! im planning on watching a horror and i cant do it by myself_

_[0242] Me: Now?_

_[0243] Ann: yes, now! theres this app you download, and you can watch on your laptop with ur friend in vc. cmooooon!!_

_[0244] Me: Okay._

It was better than watching a rehash of the news in a vain attempt to ignore the looming weight of his sins. He wasn’t a fan of horror films, but luckily Ann wouldn’t pick up on that. 

At Ann’s urging, he fished out his laptop from under the coffee table and downloaded the app, making himself comfortable on his sofa so he was lying supine on it, still bundled up in his duvet. He felt cosy and drowsy, and it wasn’t long before he was connected to voice chat in Ann, the window open to a blank screen. 

_“Are you ready for a super scary film?”_ Ann asked him cheerily. There was no trace of the tense concern from Futaba’s Palace. 

Goro felt something in him relax. So this wasn’t an excuse for a verbal interrogation. 

“It takes a lot to frighten me,” Goro lied.

 _“Do you speak English?”_ Ann asked abruptly, then clarified; _“The movie I’m thinking of is in English. I think it has Japanese subtitles, but-”_

“I can speak English,” Goro said in fluent English. He only had the barest traces of an accent, “Don’t worry about subtitles.”

“Awesome!” Ann returned in kind, “Then let’s get ready for Bloodmageddon!”

“Bloodma- _what?”_ Goro scoffed, but the screen flickered, and the studio logos began appearing. The film was starting. 

What followed was almost two hours of extremely bad acting, amateur camera angles, far too many American accents, enough fake blood to fill an Olympic swimming pool, random jump scares that almost had him launching his laptop several times, and lots and lots and _lots_ of dramatic close ups of the villain’s hockey mask. There was no plot, or if there was one Goro had missed it amidst all the bloodshed, and he spent about the majority of the film watching it between his fingers. 

_“I can’t believe you’re squeamish!”_ Ann teased him when the villain caught up with yet another flock of scantily clad high school girls, and proceeded to murder them in a way that made Goro think the director wanted to make a snuff film, not a horror movie. 

“I’m _not_ squeamish,” Goro hissed through gritted teeth, peeking between his fingers just in time to see copious amounts of arterial spray spurt over the villain’s face. His stomach rolled and he closed his fingers, groaning, “Why is there so much blood?”

 _“I can stop it and we can watch something else, if you want,”_ Ann kindly offered, only sounding a little amused. Her words were almost drowned out by a warbling shriek like a strangled cat rising from one of the murdered schoolgirls. 

Goro’s pride bristled, “We’re finishing it.”

_“But-”_

Even though Ann couldn’t see it, he lowered his hands and tightly gripped the sides of his laptop, glaring a hole at the laptop screen. The blood was comically fake, but the dark lighting made it seem _real,_ enough so that he felt his pulse flutter as long buried memories violently rattled the mental door he had solidly locked them behind. 

He wasn’t a coward. He can withstand this shitty movie. You could see the boom mic edging into view for fuck’s sake - there was no way he was going to let Ann think he was scared of some low budget horror movie!

“We’re. Finishing. It,” he bit out. 

_“Okaaaay…”_ Ann muttered something that sounded like _‘boys’_ under his breath, _“If you’re sure.”_

There was only twenty minutes left of it anyway. Goro watched as the hockey mask villain chased the main hero of the film through the school (wait weren’t they at someone’s house two minutes ago?), until they reached the locker rooms. Then after a nonsensical speech where the hero tried to reason with the insane murderer about how he saw his childhood home and saw he had been treated horribly, that he didn’t have to kill people to make himself feel better, the hockey mask villain lunged with murderous intent and got his head shot off by the love interest whose clothes had almost disintegrated to show off her underwear. 

Goro squinted. Hadn’t she been stabbed earlier?

Either way, it ended happily ever after: two high school students traumatised, a bunch of people horrifically murdered, and an insane villain put down like the rabid dog that he was. Goro was relieved when it was over. 

_what an idiot,_ he thought, _who looks at an insane murderer and tries to sympathise with them?_

“Well, that is two hours of my life I’ll never get back,” he told Ann. 

_“Yeah, it was pretty horrible, haha,”_ Ann sounded unapologetic, _“Well, if it’s not too late for you, wanna watch something else? Your pick.”_

It was edging close to five in the morning now. Ann didn’t sound tired at all, but Goro was starting to flag a little. It was the holidays, so no school, but he did have a meeting with Sae at ten o’clock, followed by an interview just after lunch… he should sleep now unless he wanted to exist solely off spite and caffeine pills for the next twenty four hours. 

_and i have another psychotic breakdown tomorrow night, or tonight, i guess i should say,_ Goro thought groggily to himself. 

“Let’s watch something more calming,” he said, already setting an alarm on his phone for eight thirty, “A documentary.”

_“I have just the thing.”_

That was how they ended up watching David Attenborough’s Blue Planet. Ann chatted to him amicably, not at all put off by his tired grunts or one-word replies. After the upsetting carnage of crimson from the before, the soft colours of blue and green were soothing. Goro found his eyes sliding shut, Ann’s voice in one ear, the documentary in the other, and didn’t remember falling asleep. 

* * *

Goro woke up with a crick in his neck, his laptop squashed between the back of the sofa and his thigh, and the lingering remains of a very confusing dream where he was drowning in an ocean of blood with the Phantom Thieves swimming out of reach as mermaids. It had been too ridiculous to find genuinely distressing, but it did set the mood for the rest of the day.

Getting ready was initially difficult, but with grim experience he shook off the lingering remains of sleep and made himself presentable. By the time the clock ticked past nine o’clock, he was bushy-tailed and bright-eyed, Detective Prince mask plastered haphazardly into place and the memories and emotions of yesterday locked in a nuclear bunker right in the back of his mind to be dealt with never. 

He felt a lot more balanced and steady when he finally arrived at his meeting with Sae - at a coffee shop near the centre of Shibuya, where the prices were cheap and they were left mostly alone to do their work. Sae looked stressed, her face drawn and dark bruises under her eyes, barely giving him more than a nod in greeting as she picked through a thick wad of paperwork. 

Goro said nothing as he got himself comfortable. There had been a bit of tension between the both of them since Sae had pulled that stunt with Sojiro - Goro had mildly told her how unusually callous it was of her, concealing his seething disapproval behind an empty smile. Sae had told him that he was too soft to do what was necessary, though she hadn’t looked him in the eye when she had said it. 

Hah. 

Him. 

_Too soft._

It was after his order of a bracing cup of black coffee and a bland croissant was brought to the table that Sae finally deigned to acknowledge his existence. 

“Have you finished with compiling the witness statements on last week’s psychotic breakdowns?” she asked.

Goro smiled blandly at her, “Of course. Do you require the finalised report, Sae-san?”

“Not right now. Later,” Sae didn’t return to her paperwork like he expected. Instead she stared at him calculatingly. Goro tried not to draw inwards to evade the piercing stare, knowing that his mask was immaculate after yesterday’s… slip. 

“Sae-san?” he prompted. 

Sae’s gaze shifted as she said, “You have been pulled into the Medjed investigation, haven’t you?”

“Investigation?” Goro wasn’t sure if he misheard, “If you mean holding interviews on the group’s threats and capabilities to calm the public, then yes, I’ve been contending with that.”

“You haven’t been told then,” Sae looked mildly surprised, though her expression quickly cleared.

Goro, abruptly, got a bad feeling. 

“Told what?” he asked warily. 

“The SIU have gained intelligence from a protected source regarding the veracity of Medjed’s threat to Japan’s critical infrastructure,” Sae blew out a slow breath, “As this threat _is_ linked, however tenuously, to the Phantom Thieves, the Director thought it best to be assigned to you.”

Goro stifled his surprise to only a few blinks, his mind immediately whirring over this abnormality, “I’d be flattered, but my expertise doesn’t lie in cybercrime. Wouldn’t this be best assigned to someone with a more suitable skill set?”

Sae sighed, “Yes. It would. But the Director has decided it.”

No, not the Director. Goro fought the urge to scowl, already knowing who was to blame for this. _Shido._

But why? Goro hadn’t heard anything about Medjed from Shido. In fact, his father had been rather quiet recently, only contacting him to ensure he was slowly working his way down his to-do list in the correct order at the right time. Not unusual, but this close to the elections, Shido had been practically dragging Goro into his office to gloat at him and rant about being chosen by god, or whatever - but now he was silent, keeping him at arm’s length. 

He hadn’t noticed at first, occupied as he was with this infiltration into the Phantom Thieves, but abruptly Goro realised how drastically Shido’s interactions with him had changed. Did this Medjed assignment have something to do with it?

“I see…” Goro said after a too long pause, “Well, I’m sure the Director will call me in to discuss it soon. I’ll try to talk some sense into him.”

Sae snorted softly under his breath, likely knowing it was a longshot. 

The rest of the meeting passed tortuously slowly, but after it ticked past noon Goro managed to beg leave to report to the TV Station. He was working on autopilot, his mind mostly occupied in dissecting his interactions with Shido over the past few weeks to pinpoint when, exactly, his father shifted into something more distant. 

_kaneshiro,_ he realised, _it was after kaneshiro’s arrest._

Was this punishment for failing to protect Kaneshiro, then? Goro was ill-equipped to investigate Medjed. He knew enough technical skills to do basic cracking and the like, but not to the same scale as an international cybercrime organisation. It was inevitable he would eventually humiliate himself, bumbling after a much more experienced and skilled opponent, and Shido could sit back and wait until Goro begged him for help. It would be something he would do. 

Or maybe this was part of Shido’s plan to increase the Phantom Thieves’ reputation?

Goro would be the frontman, meanwhile in the background Shido would pay one of the many hackers on his payroll to decimate Medjed behind the scenes. Medjed would lose the ‘challenge’ against the Phantom Thieves, Goro could claim credit by arresting some patsy masquerading as Medjed’s leader, and the Phantom Thieves’ popularity would rise ever higher, all according to plan. If Shido got Goro to squirm uncomfortably by relying solely on his resources to maintain his infallible Detective Prince persona, well, that was just a bonus, wasn’t it?

He needed to contact Shido, soon, to get to the bottom of this. 

Unfortunately, his journey to the TV Station was waylaid when he ran - almost literally - into the other Nijima at Shibuya Station: Makoto. 

“Oh! I’m sorr- Akechi-kun,” It was amusing how quickly Nijima’s voice went from genuinely apologetic to tense in the span of a split-second. Her eyes squinted like she was in pain, probably from maintaining her polite facade with someone she obviously disliked - she probably remembered the last time they ran into each other. 

( _“Nothing but a good girl pushover.”)_

Goro’s gaze went heavy-lidded. 

“Niijima-san,” he said with saccharine politeness, “No need for apologies. The fault is all mine. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Oh,” Niijima looked startled at being apologised to, and something in her posture uncoiled, “Me too. That is, I wasn’t paying attention either. There’s a lot on my mind.”

Niijima was wringing her hands together. Her focus was obviously elsewhere, but she kept giving Goro considering looks. It was now that he saw the similarities between the Niijima sisters: while Sae was far more composed and adequate at erecting a stern mask, she was a fairly easy individual to read. Makoto was like an open-book, not a deceitful bone in her body, far clumsier and less eloquent than Sae. Goro often mentally referred to her as ‘knock-off Sae’, and had been building up to off-handedly calling her that to her face one day, just to see what she would do. 

Today was not that day. 

“Is that so?” Goro asked, curious now. Niijima was the one who asked the Phantom Thieves to investigate Kaneshiro, wasn’t she? He never got the full story out of Kurusu about it.

“You… met with my sister today, didn’t you?” Niijima’s posture straightened up, like she managed to find a spine from somewhere, “Did she seem… okay?”

Goro tilted his head a fraction, “An odd question from someone who, if I recall, lives in the same apartment as her. Is there something specific you’re worried about, Niijima-san?”

Twin spots of colour appeared high on Niijima’s cheeks, “N-No, well, I’m not sure…”

“I see,” Goro gave her a patronising look, “Well, I can tell you she seemed a little tired, but otherwise in perfect health. Now, if you excuse me, I’m a busy individual, Niijima-san. I don’t have the time to aimlessly wander as you apparently do.”

Niijima winced, folding up a little like the punching bag that she was - only to abruptly straighten up, jutting her chin out in such a Sae-like motion it briefly took Goro off-guard. 

“There’s no need to be _rude,”_ Niijima snapped, “I’m aware your opinion of me isn’t that high, but that doesn’t give you the right to speak down to me.”

Now _this_ was interesting. Goro considered her for a moment, and checked his watch. If he skipped lunch, which he had been planning to do, he had time to play with Niijima for a little bit. 

“Funny,” Goro said, letting his Detective Prince mask slip a fraction. He fixed Niijima with his heavy-lidded stare, his smile turning flat, “This hostility of mine is only in retaliation to yours. Do you not recall our first meeting?”

Niijima flushed, like he expected, “I- that was-”

“Jealousy is an ugly expression,” Goro said mildly, “But know that I’m not competing with you for Sae’s attention. If you were worth any of it, she would freely give it to you. The failing is yours, not mine.”

Niijima said nothing for a moment. Her face was pinched, but angry. She looked like she wanted to slug him, her anger kept in check only by their public surroundings. Hm, unlike Sae, Makoto seemed like the type to get physical. 

“I… you’re right,” Niijima forced out, her expression smoothing out, “I _am_ jealous of you.”

She looked down at this admission, her hands curled into tight fists at her side, “I’m jealous… but this isn’t about who Sae likes better, anymore. I don’t care about that. She’s… surely, you must’ve noticed how much she’s changed recently. Ever since she was put on the Mental Shutdown cases, she’s changed…”

This was wading into dangerous waters. Sae _had_ changed - her Palace was growing, the last Goro had checked on it, needing only a few more nudges and setbacks to have its foundations rooted deep in Sae’s psyche. She was a driven woman, professional, lacking few social contacts outside of work - it was assessed that few, if any, would notice any extreme changes in behaviour with Goro acting as her minder. Except, of course, Makoto, who should be too busy with her final year at school to pay much mind to her sister… 

_how troublesome,_ Goro sighed, suddenly very, very, very tired. 

“...this is a stressful time for her,” Goro said carefully, “There is little, if any, progress on the Mental Shutdowns. It would make anyone frustrated.”

“Except you?” Niijima shot back, “You seem much less _stressed_ than my sister.”

Goro smiled thinly, “It’s called _pretending,_ Niijima-san.”

Niijima didn’t look like she believed him, but she didn’t challenge him either. She frowned at him intently, then lowered her gaze. 

“...thank you for your time, Akechi-kun,” she murmured, giving him a small, perfunctory bow before abruptly departing. 

Goro watched her go, an uneasy feeling in his belly. He’ll have to keep an eye on her. 

* * *

The day’s punches, sadly, didn’t end with that troubling encounter. 

“Akechi-kun, could I have a minute of your time?” Higashi, one of Shido’s media stooges, asked him after the interview. 

Goro smiled and agreed, keeping up the facade until they were sequestered in a private room within the TV Station. Higashi looked uncomfortable, adjusting his tie as he prepared to deliver, no doubt, unpleasant news on Shido’s behalf. Unlike the others compromised in the media, Higashi knew exactly who Goro was, and acted somewhat as a middle man for Shido to the likes of Yoshizawa, who wasn’t yet trusted to be part of the conspiracy but was vulnerable to blackmail all the same. 

_especially as his daughter just recently died,_ Goro remembered absently. 

“Your interviews regarding Medjed have been fantastic,” Higashi opened with, “But it’s not what Shido wants anymore.”

Goro blinked very slowly, feeling the thin veneer of calm he had clung to all day start to crack, “Oh?”

“I have a message…” Higashi began weakly, no doubt sensing the murderous turn in Goro’s mood, “You are to aid the media in increasing the public's fear towards the Medjed threat, so that the Phantom Thieves’ popularity will skyrocket when they, the thieves, I mean, inevitably win in a few weeks. He says that you should have been aware of this plan already, and has expressed his... displeasure at your failure in performing your duties. ”

There was a pause. Goro's perfectly mild expression was unchanging, frozen on his face despite feeling an awful pressure crushing against his ribcage. It was another volatile emotion bubbling up alongside all the others he was juggling, except he could accurate identify it as seething, molten _rage._ It tasted like metal- the inside of his cheek stung, his teeth biting almost right through it. 

“The- the current government’s incompetency in dealing with the Medjed threat is also something that can be used in his... in his campaigning,” Higashi continued weakly, anxiously wringing his hands as he avoided looking Goro in the eyes, “Promising more protections against cyber threats, funding, that sort of thing… so...”

“I understand,” Goro said, so furious he was tranquil from it, “Is that all?”

“Y-Yes, Akechi-san.” 

Goro left immediately after that, breathing very slowly and carefully through his nose. He barely remembered his journey back to Shibuya Station; he only recalled the rippling warp of the Metaverse and him standing before the dark, gaping entrance into Mementos, rage boiling in his blood until his vision flashed red with every furious throb of his heart. Every harsh exhale felt like it would spit fire, his fingers numb from how ferociously they squeezed around the hilt of his sword, wildly swinging it with every aggressive stride. Shido- _Shido- how dare he- **how dare he-**_

“Why. Didn’t. He. Tell. Me. _Himself?!”_ Goro screamed at no one, pacing madly in front of Mementos’s entrance like a beast at the bars of its cage, “I’ve delivered so many interviews - I did one _today_ \- and he waited until now- I'm not fucking _psychic!_ I’ll look like a _fool_ if I start backtracking now-! I'll- he can't just-!”

Goro stopped. Breathed. 

“I need to kill something,” he declared, and stormed into Mementos. 

There was something comforting about how the unnatural darkness closed around him, how the stale air caught in his throat and made him feel like he was on the cusp of hell itself. Here, he didn’t have to hide who he was. Here, he could expose all the ugliness and rage inside and have no one but the Shadows to witness him, Shadows which he could crush into paste for daring to even _look_ at him. Here, in Mementos, Goro was judge, jury and executioner, in perfect, total, _control._

But for that metamorphosis into his real self to be complete, Goro had to bring back Loki. 

His footsteps echoed as he stormed beyond the silent escalators, just enough that he was well out of sight from the entrance of Mementos. At this level, all Shadows avoided him, sensing a stronger predator about, so there was no risk in closing his eyes and pressing his fingers against the red bird mask of _Robin Hood._

He hated this part. 

He really hated this part. 

If there was one thing Goro envied Kurusu over, it was his seamless switching between his many Persona. He did it with a simple twitch of his fingers and flash of blue flames, painless, easy, instantaneous. With Goro, it wasn’t like that. Robin Hood and Loki occupied the same space, the same Persona but shattered in half, jagged chunks of useless psyche the only thing tethering them together in his mind. If he wanted to switch them, he would have to... 

“Robin,” he whispered, and the area around him lit up as his first Persona appeared behind him. He closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against the exposed skin of his forehead, and braced himself. Inside, he could feel Loki stirring, pressing against the inside of his rib cage and scratching at the bone with needle thin claws. He needed him anyway, for the Psychotic Breakdown tonight. Could keep him for a week, until they delved into Futaba’s Palace and he'd have to switch again. 

In, out. Breathe in calm, exhale fear. 

“Loki,” he rasped. 

Another good thing about Mementos:

There was no one around to hear him scream as his Persona - literally - turned itself inside out with the wet, squelching crunch of tearing gristle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	9. AKIRA V: Buried in Sand

When Akira was a child, there were two rules that he knew above all else: _stay quiet_ , and _don’t be an embarrassment_.

It wasn’t a very hard thing to do. Akira knew how to sit and play the perfect part for his perfectly uptight parents in his perfect house at their perfect parties. He’d sit there like the perfect son and smile cutely at the guests who’d coo at him as if he was the most _darling_ thing they’d ever seen. If he played his part well, his parents might actually let him go to bed without another lecture. If he didn’t, well, he’d heard the same speech repeated over many years, but it was always the look of disappointment in their eyes that hit him the hardest.

The point being, while Akira was at those fancy dinner parties and business meetings, he couldn’t talk, couldn’t leave, and so his only option left was to _observe_.

And so, Akira became _very_ good at observing.

It wasn’t a particularly useful skill for most of his life. Figuring out that the wife of a prominent CEO was cheating on him with his assistant wasn’t exactly of use to Akira. Nor was the way the politician would start sweating every time his campaign funding was mentioned, or how the neighbor complimented the homemade pastries without having tried a single one. They were little trivial things, entertaining to notice and puzzle through his head at the time, but there was never any reason to dwell on them more than that.

And yet, over time, he grew to realize that the people he analyzed began to become objects of entertainment, much in the same way he himself had become for them. It was a level of detachment that he wasn’t exactly proud of, and it scared him a little that he could switch into that frame of mind so easily. It didn’t seem so bad when he was analyzing sleazy businessmen and the like, but when he started to do the same to the students in his classrooms and the people who were supposed to be his friends, that’s when it became a problem. The longer he spent isolated in his own head the more he isolated himself, and overtime he learned it was best to lock that part of himself away.

Then, _Joker_ awakened.

Joker awakened from the depths of his soul with a familiarity that Akira couldn’t deny, and he quickly adjusted to his almost vicious intelligence for both battle and leadership, and his ability to cast sympathy aside for the sanctity of the mission and the strength of the team. _Joker_ could be a good leader, while Akira was too much of a coward to step up and do what he needed to do. And as the old familiar mask fell into place, he twirled his dagger and realized he’d _missed_ him.

And yet, as he soon came to realize, he’d been pushing that part of himself away for so long that he no longer remembered how to carry that same bravery and analytical-intelligence into the real world like he should have. It always slipped between his fingers, the guise that he needed as a leader falling victim to his own mind and to his fears. But he could try _harder_.

So, that’s exactly what he does when he brings Akechi back to Leblanc. He tries to be the leader that Akechi needs, that the _team_ needs, because god knew that _Akira_ hadn’t been helping anyone.

 _“Our circumstances are…similar,”_ Akechi had said in regards to Futaba. _“My mother killed herself when I was a child, and it was considered my fault.”_

As Akechi spoke, he’d avoided his eyes, both voice and expression distant as if it had been hard for him to talk about. It made sense that it would be. Akira didn’t deny that he was telling the truth. His mother was very obviously someone who had been important to him, who _still_ was important to him. She’d impacted him significantly, that much was clear.

 _“Obviously, I don’t believe that anymore,”_ Akechi had then added, a bit too quickly in Akira’s opinion. As if it’d been rehearsed. _“I understand that there were many outside factors resulting in her- decision, but emotions rarely obey rationality at the best of times.”_

When Akechi had turned to him, his smile had been fake, and yet there’d been something _real_ there in his eyes. More than just sorrow which Akira would have expected, but instead there was a hint of _anger_ there. Burning low right below the surface, fury ages deep, that he’d likely carried with him a long time. While it was clear that there was a part of him that still blamed himself for her death, if Akira had to guess, he also blamed someone else.

But Akira wasn’t sure what to do with that information, at least not then. So, he stored it away with the rest.

 _“I would appreciate it if you never breathed a word about this to anyone,”_ Akechi had concluded. _“I refuse to let anyone pity me over this information. Understand?”_

And Akira had said-

_It’s not your fault._

_You’re angry about something._

_I won’t tell a soul._

“I won’t tell a soul,” he’d said because he was well aware that Akechi wouldn’t take kindly to being called out, and it wasn’t any of his business anyway.

Still, it didn’t escape his notice that while Akechi had been talking about his past, he’d never once mentioned his father. If his mother killed himself when he was only a child, then was his father really so far removed from the picture that he’d never made an appearance? There was a chance he was dead, although Akira didn’t think that was the case. Then why wasn’t he in the picture?

Unless of course...he was.

 _“But, what about your...Er, I mean... your parents...?”_ Ann had said some time ago.

 _"My parents are not around,"_ Akechi had responded, not meeting anyone’s eyes. _"Not in a way to be of... help."_

The phrasing had seemed odd to him at the time, another question to add to the growing mystery of one Goro Akechi. And yet, Akechi had clearly _cared_ about his mother, so him saying that the consequence of her suicide was that she was no longer of _help_ to him didn’t _feel_ right. Which would mean that the oddity of the phrasing had to be in reference to his father.

But... _why_?

Akechi had seemed... _stressed_ , as of late. Extremely stressed, even before their palace infiltration started. Akira had seen it in the bags beneath his eyes and the way he held himself sometimes, as if he was moments away from falling over. It was concerning, and yet Akira had previously assumed it was from the combination of their Metaverse excursions along with his schooling and constant TV presence.

Then...why did he seem just as exhausted if not _more_ sometimes after they hadn’t been to the Metaverse in days?

Akechi was also an almost overnight celebrity, this much Akira knew from the bit of research he’d done on him over the past few weeks. While Akira didn’t doubt his abilities, he also knew how hard it was to become someone that important without some sort of connection _somewhere_.

But then.. _who?_ And _why_ would they help him?

Furthermore, in all the interviews that Akira had seen, and he’d watched _a lot_ , Akechi never spoke of his parents. This made sense considering what Akira now knew about his mother, but it _was_ strange that no interviewer ever asked such a basic question to such a young teen celebrity. Akechi’s family and home life would be considered big news, and yet the most Akira had ever heard was a comment or two said in passing, which Akechi had skirted around with nothing more than a vague comment and a pleasant smile. From what Akira understood of the last detective prince, Naoto Shirogane, they had followed in their family’s footsteps. So, shouldn’t that have been a prime question for any interviewer to ask of their successor?

 _Someone_ was making sure those questions weren’t asked, or weren’t shown.

With all of that taken into consideration, slowly a certain idea blossoms in Akira’s head. One he’d never voice, but remains with him nonetheless.

What if Akechi’s father was someone in a position of power? Someone who would have connections, and yet also someone Akechi felt he needed to keep quiet about.

And if he did help Akechi get to where he was now...then what was he asking for in return?

***

The beam going across the attic ceiling was in fact, very dusty.

Akira learns this firsthand as he stands up on his desk chair and attempts to wipe away all the grime with a rag he’d stolen from behind the counter. It was a true use of his phantom thieving skills because he’s pretty sure that Sojiro might not be too pleased with his decision to use one of his high-quality dish rags to wipe away the small army of dust bunnies that were living above his very head. But _if_ he were ever to find out, well that was a problem for future Akira. Right now, he was being _productive_.

“Akira, you’re cleaning that _now_?” Morgana says in clear bewilderment. “Didn’t you have like five people messaging you asking if you were busy?”

The answer to that was: yes. Yes, Akira currently had a multitude of people asking to spend time with him as well as _some_ members of his group questioning if taking a break from the palace right now was really the best idea. To that, Akira would say that he was making the very leaderly decision to take some time off and...clean the beams of his attic ceiling.

“You’re the one who’s always suggesting I work out more, Morgana,” Akira says, accidentally knocking off some dust that ends up falling somewhere in his hair. Well, that too could be a problem for future Akira.

“No, I have never said that!” Morgana yowls, clearly offended. He jumps onto the ledge of the window as he tries to get a look at his face. “Akira, what’s wrong? Is this about Akechi again?”

 _Again_ , he says, as if Akechi was the only person that Akira ever sulked about anymore. Just because it was true didn’t mean he had to just come out and say it like that.

It was just that...Akechi was...a _puzzle_. A living representation of one of those quiz shows on TV that Akira always hated watching. The ones where the host is pleasant and friendly, acting as if he’s just overjoyed that some contestant is going to win a lot of money. But then the questions come out and you think that you know the answer but in actuality they were all trick questions so everything you thought you knew was wrong and-

Okay, Akira might have watched a total of one quiz show in his lifetime when he was a child and it might have been strangely traumatic for his young brain. Still, his point stood.

Akechi was one of the most frustrating people he’d ever met, and yet somehow he couldn’t seem to get out of Akira’s head like he really really wished that he would. Akechi also was an asshole sometimes. And just because he was going through some shit didn’t mean that he had to look at Akira and his dusty living space as if he was _disgusted_ by them. Yeah, okay, maybe Akira wasn’t flawless in every single way like _Ann_ apparently was, but he bathed every day and he could clean when he wanted to. Even if it was getting really damn hard to reach the other beams from this stupid chair-

“Akira?” Morgana questions him, interrupting his mini-mental tangent that is in no way to be considered a crisis. “Akira, I’m starting to worry about you.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine _-shit-_ ” His own words are cut off with a curse as his foot slips from the chair in his valiant attempt to reach the far beam, and he ends up crashing to the floor. Pain courses through his body, but none of it is as painful as the blow to his pride.

There’s a small thump as Morgana jumps from the ledge, and as Akira stares up at the ceiling once again, he hears the quiet sounds of his paws padding across the floor.

“You were saying?” The witness to all of his failures asks, looking down at him with his big luminescent blue eyes as he jabs him in the cheek with a paw.

“I hate him,” Akira mumbles weakly, turning his face into his wooden floorboards which now happens to be covered in clumps of dust. All of the progress he’d been trying to make just creating a new problem he’d need to deal with. A metaphor for his life, really.

Morgana doesn’t answer, just pats him on the head with his paw.

***

The day he’s supposed to meet Akechi at the aquarium ends up being warm and sunny.

It makes for pleasant walking weather as he and Morgana cross the busy streets in the direction of the aquarium from the station. He’d previously messaged Akechi the time and place that they’d be meeting, and Akechi had only offered a brisk _‘okay’_ in response. It was short and curt enough to make Akira quickly delete the message he’d been about to send, in which he’d been asking if he wanted to meet at Leblanc beforehand so that they could go together. So, instead they were traveling...separately. Which _probably_ wasn’t the most ideal start to a date.

Of course, Akira was also very worried that Akechi wouldn’t show his face at all. That was in relation to an entirely different set of worries that he preferred not to dwell on.

“Akira, you’re overthinking things again,” Morgana says, his claws digging in lightly to the skin of his shoulder.

“No, I’m not,” Akira lies, and then instantly feels guilty about it because he’s a soft-hearted fool who hates lying to Morgana even if he unthinkingly does it all the time.

“Whatever you say,” Morgana says, proving that he was way too used to his shit. Although, now that he thinks about it, he isn’t really sure why Morgana even came along with him. As thankful as he is for the company, while he walks to what might either be a date or possible murder, he really hopes that Morgana doesn’t think he’s about to walk into a hunt-it-yourself sushi buffet.

“You do realize you can’t actually come into the aquarium, right?” Akira asks him a bit tentatively.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” Morgana responds to his immediate relief. “Just drop me off before you get there and I’ll meet you back outside. Just _don’t_ get back on the train without me.”

Akira gives a slight nod. As if he could ever forget his favorite feline companion in this great expanse of city. Who else would listen to him lament about his love life? Yusuke? He’d probably just paint a portrait of him and title it _Hopeless Love_ or something. Akira’s sure it would turn out very aesthetically pleasing, but it also probably wouldn’t do so great for his already pessimistic romantic outlook.

Ryuji, on the other hand, was a horrible option considering Akira would never be able to mention that his crush was in fact on _the_ Goro Akechi. Not unless he wanted to face an hour’s worth of questions that all were slight variations of: _Why him?_ And Akira really didn’t want to have to explain that he just so happened to be very attracted to guys in sweater vests who sometimes looked like they wanted to put a knife through his throat. Also, it might be hard to explain that Akira might also be into _that_. Not the dying part, but the thought of Akechi with a knife didn’t exactly strike fear in him like it probably should have.

And as for Ann, well she was probably too busy giving advice to her newest friend _Goro_.

“Akira you’re pouting again,” Morgana says, and Akira shoots him a look of betrayal, to which he earns an unamused stare. “Anyway, that’s the place, isn’t it?”

Akira turns and gives a nod of confirmation. It thankfully hadn’t taken them too long to get there, and according to his phone they were right on time. Walking a bit closer to the building, his steps come to a sudden halt when he catches sight of a very familiar patterned sweater vest that makes his stupid heart increase its tempo. _Of course_ Akechi would be early.

“You’re going to be fine,” Morgana tells him before leaping out of his bag and onto the ground. “Just...try not to make things too uncomfortable. The rest of us still have to be able to work with the two of you.”

And with that, he vanishes, off to do whatever it was he normally did out in the city.

Akira takes a deep breath and crosses the last of the distance between them. He finds himself smiling fondly at the sight of Akechi frowning down at his phone screen, looking absolutely _miserable_ to be here. It was exactly the reaction he’d expected from him, but Akira would change his mind and turn this around. Akira could be _very_ charming when he wanted to be.

Only, the moment that Akechi looks up and turns the full intensity of his gaze on him, all the confidence he just had shrivels up and dies and Akira is left with a pounding heart and a tongue that seems more capable of crawling down his throat than forming words.

“You look...nice,” Akira says like an absolute moron.

Three words out of his mouth and he already wouldn’t mind it if a meteor fell from the sky and landed on him, killing him instantly. It would be a better death than the one he was currently dying now.

Akechi rolls his eyes.

“Skip the pleasantries, Kurusu,” he says, pocketing his phone and turning towards the front entrance. “Come on.”

Akira follows him in, deciding to stay quiet as he turns over their tickets at the entrance booth. It’s not until they’re walking past admission and into the actual aquarium that Akira once again attempts to start up a civil conversation. Anything to make Akechi actually give him some sort of acknowledgment instead of his newest pastime which seemed to be ignoring the fact that Akira was even there at all.

“So, how’s…Ann?”

Akira cringes the moment he says it. That...wasn’t what he had been aiming for. Well, it wasn’t his fault that their happy-little friendship was the first thing on his mind.

“What?” Akechi asks immediately, shooting him an annoyed look. “She’s your friend, isn’t she? Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Akira shrugs noncommittally. “You two have just seemed close lately.”

“ _Jealous_ Kurusu?” Akechi smiles, all teeth. It shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “I didn’t realize Ann was your type.”

For a moment, Akira is struck completely speechless. Did Akechi really think Akira was interested in _Ann_? While they were in the aquarium. The aquarium that Akira had asked him out to- in what might have been the most obvious attempt at asking him _out_ without literally writing “go out with me” on a piece of paper and shoving it in his face. Maybe Akira was just really bad at this, but he’d _thought_ he’d been obvious?

“She’s not,” Akira nearly chokes, shaking his head so fast he’s surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. “Not at all.”

He kind of feels like dying a little.

“If you _must_ know, we actually had a movie night a few nights ago,” Akechi continues as if he’s talking about the weather, clearly unaware that he’d just turned a knife in Akira’s heart. “And I’d surmise that she’s doing fine.”

The knife twists a little deeper and secretly he wonders how much he can take before he actually starts dripping blood onto the aquarium floor.

“You had a movie night?” Akira asks weakly. “With Ann?”

“Correct.” Akechi smiles then, sharp and way too amused. Smug asshole. “Does that _bother_ you?”

Yes. Yes, it most certainly bothered him.

“No,” Akira tells him. “Why would I be bothered?”

Akechi just hums and strides away towards one of the tanks, leaving Akira to trail after him feeling a lot like a kicked puppy on an invisible leash.

They end up in front of a relatively small tank with an octopus half-buried in sand. It seems a little sad actually, or maybe that was just Akira self-projecting on actual sea creatures. Wow, he was pathetic.

Turning to him, Akechi offers a saccharine smile. “Did you know that octopi will eat their own arms if they’re not stimulated enough by their surroundings?” he says cheerily like an actual psychopath. “I find that quite fascinating myself.”

Akira senses a silent threat somewhere in there.

“Please don’t eat off your own arm,” he offers flatly, to which Akechi lightly laughs.

“I’ll try my best to refrain from doing so.”

And with that, Akechi turns and strides away, leaving Akira to once again follow. They don’t walk for long before something else seems to catch Akechi’s interest and they veer off towards a much larger exhibit where a shark is swimming by close to the glass. Or more specifically, according to the placard on the wall, a tiger shark.

“A tiger shark’s young is actually born alive inside of them,” Akechi starts without preamble when two of them have been in front of the glass for less than a minute. “The eggs hatch and they have a tendency to eat each other. It’s quite a dark turn of events don’t you think?” His tone turns more somber then, tilting his head as he gazes at the shark behind the glass. “To be born and then be immediately eaten alive before you have a chance to live. Sharks don’t have bones, only cartilage, so when they die their body dissolves in the saltwater and the only thing that remains of them is their teeth.” He smiles, small and tinged with melancholy, concluding with, “It’s a rather sad existence for a fish, especially one viewed as being so dangerous.”

Akira isn’t sure when the mood changed from openly hostile to making his heart clench painfully in his chest, but it’s clear that somewhere within Akechi’s borderline horrific shark facts, he’d found something a bit too personal. Akechi couldn’t have had an easy childhood, that much was obvious, but something about his words seem very _lonely_. As if behind his detective prince mask, there was a part of him that believed everything else about him was doomed to fade away into nothing. As if he never mattered at all.

Sure, Akira could be looking a little too closely, making his own thoughts and theories about the puzzle that was Goro Akechi into facts, when they should have only remained in pure hypotheticals. Still, there’s something that tells him that he’s not wrong, even if Akechi himself would deny feeling that way to the very end, even to himself.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Akira says carefully, making sure to keep things light so that Akechi doesn’t end up retreating back into himself. “But from what I hear, the bad rep sharks get isn’t true.” He grins. “Did you know that falling coconuts and jellyfish are statistically more dangerous than sharks?”

Akechi laughs lightly, the somber edge vanishing from his expression as if it’d never been there at all.

“Well, reputations can be quite deceiving,” he says, offering a cheerful smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Then he’s once again turning away, striding off to some other part of the aquarium without so much as a word. Rolling his eyes fondly, Akira once again follows after him.

He eventually leads them to a small tank of jellyfish, the water glowing a fluorescent blue. Inside, jellyfish drift around each other, their legs swaying gracefully as they float. They’re beautiful, in a way. And yet, Akira once again finds his gaze sliding over to Akechi. He watches how the fluorescent light illuminates his skin and how even his eyes seem brighter than usual, as if he’s mesmerized by the bobbing jellyfish. _He’s cute,_ Akira thinks, and tries not to smile like an idiot.

“Jellyfish are actually 98% water,” Akechi says after a bit of time passes, once again filling the silence between them with very specific facts. Akira has to wonder how he knows so much about fish, the thought tossing his mind that Akechi might have actually _researched_ before coming here today. His heart flutters pathetically at the thought. “So, much like sharks, they too essentially disappear when they die.” Akechi pauses then, lips pulling up into a small smile that seems completely genuine. “They’re also rather brainless, but fascinating creatures nonetheless. Sometimes they can be quite deadly, but other times they’re completely harmless,” he continues, tilting his head as if considering something. “They’re also quite graceful, aren’t they? No matter how the current takes them, their legs never get tangled. They are...the true mysteries of the sea.”

As he finishes his small speech, Akechi turns his gaze toward Akira, and likely noticing his ridiculously fond expression, his gaze instantly narrows.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Akira says, shoving his hands in his pockets and offering a small shrug. “I’m just glad you’re having a nice time.”

Akechi pauses, a frown immediately pulling at his lips as if he’s dissatisfied with the fact he’d been caught having fun.

“Just because I’m making the most of my time here doesn’t mean I’m enjoying myself,” he huffs after a moment, crossing his arms in clear annoyance. And yet, before he turns away, Akira swears he catches a hint of red dusting his cheeks.

 _He’s prickly,_ Akira thinks to himself, finding that Akechi might just be the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. That same smile he used to only reserve for cats in sweaters comes to the surface without his control as he watches Akechi turn and stalk away from him without another word.

He isn’t too sure what the next exhibit they stop at is, considering Akira immediately leans against the wall and focuses all his attention on Akechi. In response, Akechi seems to bristle further under his stare, but offers no formal acknowledgment.

While Akira has learned to appreciate all sides of Goro Akechi, even the detective prince facade that sometimes bordered on creepy, it was _this_ side of him that was by far his favorite. The side of him that seems the most genuine out of all that he’s seen, where Akechi’s clearly flustered and yet ready to snap at anyone at a moment’s notice. It was cute. _He_ was cute...and prickly. Like a feral kitten, or better yet, a _hedgehog_.

“Behind the detective prince mask, you’re kind of like a hedgehog, huh,” Akira says, unable to resist voicing his genius comparison. It was just so entirely fitting, and honestly he was just really interested in seeing how Akechi would react.

Akechi, predictably, scowls at him. “What does _that_ mean?”

Akira doesn’t answer. Instead, he shrugs and leaves Akechi to have fun figuring out what he meant by that. He was smart, he’d get it eventually.

He’s still smiling to himself when he finds himself in front of the dolphin exhibit. Part of the enclosure is outside, but from inside he gets to see the underwater view of them. Watching as they follow each other around in the water, looking carefree and completely happy.

With Akechi still lingering somewhere else, Akira turns his attention to the placard on the wall, one part in particular catching his attention.

_Dolphins are at their best when they’re helping others achieve their goals. Dedicated to their cause, no matter what it might be, they are happiest when fostering greatness in others. Always working in the background to inspire and encourage them._

A bittersweet smile pulls at his lips as he continues to watch them. They’re beautiful, swimming beside each other in graceful arcs, never breaking their small formation.

 _You make it seem so easy,_ Akira thinks to himself, unwilling to speak the words out loud.

As he continues to watch them, Akechi makes his way back to his side. They stand in silence for a while, neither of them speaking as the dolphins swim around their enclosure.

“I’m not _prickly_ ,” Akechi mutters without preamble.

Akira laughs, completely startled. It had to have been at least ten minutes since he said it and Akechi was _still_ thinking about it. In all honesty, Akira had gotten so distracted he’d almost forgotten.

“Yeah, of course you aren’t,” Akira tells him, accepting the glare he receives with a grin. It really was just like Akechi to completely miss the implication that Akira had called him cute. But that was no matter, because at the very least their date was starting to look up. And it’s this significantly lighter mood that sets the tone for the rest of their time together.

While a degree of tension remains in the air between them for a while, slowly that too seems to exhaust itself until all that remains is an iteration of calm. Akechi’s fish facts slowly die out, only adding to Akira’s suspicion that he’d very likely researched a number of fish facts before showing up...and most of them just happened to be more or less vaguely threatening. It’s a thought that amuses him, and he can’t help but feel like he’s being entirely too obvious with all the fond looks he keeps throwing Akechi from out of the corner of his eye.

And as time passes, it’s not hard for Akira to see that the blue-tinted atmosphere of the aquarium soon begins to drain the deep-seated tension that’s always tightly wound in Akechi’s posture. By the time they leave the aquarium, Akechi is looking significantly more relaxed than he has in a while.

“So, what do you think?” Akira asks lightly as the two of them finally step back outside. “I’m not such a bad date, am I?”

“You are _insufferable_ ,” Akechi says, still seeming amused despite his words. “But no, I suppose I didn’t completely hate today.”

Akira’s pretty sure he’s familiar enough with Akechi’s prickliness by now to assume that meant he’d had the time of his life. Or at the very least, a _nice_ time.

“Whatever you say, _hedgehog_.”

Akechi gives him a flat look.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he says evenly. “Today was terrible. The fish were decent, but I think even Sakamoto would have qualified as better company.”

“Wow, I’m touched,” Akira tells him with a grin. He pauses then, noting the pink tinge to the sky, a testament to the fact that their day together was coming to an end. Within his chest, his heart gives a weak little flutter, melancholy for the end of a day that had ended up far better than he’d been expecting. “Um,” he says a bit awkwardly, tugging at his fringe. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Ah well....” Akechi looks away, seeming a bit flustered at the sudden change of mood. Akira waits for his response with baited breath, as if the answers to the universe itself were rooted in his next words. And yet, when Akechi turns back to him, it’s with his famous TV smile and Akira’s heart falls at the sight of the familiar mask. “Of course, Kurusu,” Akechi says, tone tinged with plasticity. “I do feel I should apologize for how... _heated_ I got with you before. I’ll try not to have such a negative effect on the team.”

A part of Akira wants to tell him that he didn’t mind the anger, because at least it was better than whatever _this_ was. But he doesn’t. Because there’s another part of him that’s hurt and frustrated and is too busy trying to get the knife out of his heart at the implication that their _date_ had apparently just turned into a _team-building_ exercise.

“Right,” he says tonelessly. “The team.”

If Akechi notices the change in Akira’s demeanor he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he just pulls out his phone as if to check something, before looking back at Akira with a polite nod of his head.

“Contact me when you’re ready to go back to the palace,” he tells him. “Goodnight, Kurusu.”

“Goodnight, Akechi,” Akira echos, a mirror to Akechi’s own sudden chill.

And with the last of the sunlight fading from the sky, Akira watches him walk away.

***

It’s not long after their day at the aquarium that Akira finally calls together a meeting about their next course of action. Or in other words, how they’re going to cross through the door of Futaba’s palace and get a calling card into her hands so that they can finish whatever is left of her palace in one single day. It’s a little ambitious, but after their break everyone seems refreshed, and Akira has faith that together they’d be able to take down whatever was lying ahead.

Their first order of business is to find a way into Futaba’s room.

Akira does his best to pick up the guise of _leader_ from the floorboards and wears it the best that he can, even if he sometimes finds it slipping, as if he doesn’t yet know how to tie the strings of it around his ears. He knows this, and yet he is _trying_. He won’t let the same mistakes as last time happen again.

They’re meeting in Leblanc’s attic, which Akechi seems much less visibly disgusted by. Of course, Akira isn’t really sure if that’s because he’s relaxed, or because Akira spent almost an entire day cleaning it. Either way, as they speak, Akechi stands behind Akira’s chair, his hand resting on the wooden back of it, inches away from Akira’s shoulder. He briefly considers leaning back into his hand, before he remembers that he’s supposed to be doing _leaderly_ things and clears the haze from his mind. Now wasn’t the time for him to be focusing all his attention on Akechi.

“How will we convince Futaba to let us into her room though,” Yusuke is saying. “Even Boss is forbidden entry.”

“We’ll be honest,” Akira tells him instantly. It does happen to be something he’d thought about quite a bit between his bouts of internal crises. From behind him, Akechi hums in consideration.

“You’re suggesting we use what Futaba doesn’t know about our methods to our advantage,” Akechi muses, and Akira tilts his head to look up at him. His heart may do a pathetic little jump when he meets the intensity of his gaze, but he pushes the feeling down to wherever it came from and attempts to actually get his head to function correctly.

“Exactly,” Akira tells him with a slight nod. “Futaba _wants_ us to help her. If we tell her that all we need is for her to open the door so we can steal her heart,” he shrugs, “I think there’s a good chance she’ll listen.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Akechi asks, tilting his head in question.

“We leave,” Akira tells him intelligently, decidedly making up an alternate course of action on the spot. “But Morgana stays hidden in the shadows until he finds the perfect opportunity to bust into her room and leave a calling card right where she’d see it.”

It’s certainly not the best plan he’s ever thought of, but it’s also not the worst. He decides not to tell that particular fact to Akechi as he continues to give him a deadpan look. Tough crowd.

“Hey!” Morgana speaks up indignantly. “I didn’t agree to that!”

“If we’re lucky, maybe he’ll even get locked in,” Ryuji adds with a grin.

“How would that be lucky…?” Yusuke says the same time Ann says:

“Oh shut it, Ryuji!”

“I agree that talking to her would be best,” Akechi says stepping forward in a clear attempt to get things back on track. “I don’t think that she’d be unreasonable.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, Akira reaches into his pocket to make sure he has a lockpick. It looked as if it was going to be another venture in breaking and entering.

***

It doesn’t take them long to find their way back in front of Futaba’s bedroom door. Also known as the very same door that they needed to enter in order to break through her cognition.

It _probably_ wasn’t the best that they continued to break into his newest legal guardian’s house without his permission like a true group of thieves. But Akira had done the honors of breaking the lock this time anyway, _maybe_ showing off a little in the process. Akechi wasn’t the only one with expert lockpicking skills. And Akira had winked at him in a rare display of confidence before leading them all through.

And yet, standing here in front of Futaba’s room, all eyes suddenly on him, Akira can’t help but feel a little nervous. That old familiar fear creeps up and he feels a bit like stepping back and letting someone else handle this, but he swallows it back down before it gets the best of him. He was fine, he wouldn’t fuck this up.

Remembering how Akechi handled it last time, Akira takes a step towards Futaba’s bedroom door and knocks.

“Alibaba,” he says evenly. “You can talk through text if you want, but we need to talk to you.”

As he’d expected, the message notification sound on his phone is almost immediate.

 **[1246] Alibaba:** You should have told me you were going to come here.

 **[1247] Me:** If you want us to steal your heart you need to open the door.

 **[1247] Alibaba:** I’m not mentally prepared

 **[1248] Me:** You have to do this.

 **[1248] Alibaba:** It’s too sudden

 **[1248] Me:** We can wait. Right here.

 **[1249] Alibaba:** Fine. I just need some time.

 **[1249] Me:** You have five minutes before we all start singing. Badly.

 **[1249] Alibaba:** Is that a threat?

 **[1249] Me:** Yes.

 **[1250] Alibaba:** Wow you’re good at this.

As he pockets his phone again, their conversation coming to an end for now, he allows himself to relax a little and leans against the wall.

“She just needs a minute,” he tells the others, “then she’ll open it.”

“You got through to her then?” Akechi asks, stepping forward. When Akira gives him a small nod of confirmation he actually has the nerve to seem surprised. _Ass_. “Nice work, Kurusu.”

Akira blinks. He...hadn’t been expecting a compliment, least of all from him. It catches him off guard a little, while also having the annoying side effect of causing his heart to do a little pathetic flip in his chest.

“Um yeah,” Akira says after he remembers how to use his words. “Thanks.”

In response, Akechi only gives him a small nod of acknowledgment before he moves to stand in front of the door. The way he positions himself, arms crossed and gaze intense, reminds Akira a lot of the way he’d gazed at the cognition of his same door deep within her palace. Sometimes Akira thought he was beginning to understand him, only to swiftly be hit over the head with the fact that he still had so many questions as to what was going on in that head of his.

One day he’d figure him out.

“I feel it’s been more than long enough,” Akechi says after a fair amount of time has passed. Akira hasn’t exactly been keeping time like he should have, but he imagines it definitely has to have been five minutes.

“Come on Futaba,” Ann adds, stepping forward when Akechi’s comment doesn’t automatically yield results. “We need you to open the door.”

Her words at least seem to do the trick, for in the next moment, there’s a click and the door swings open a crack. It certainly wasn’t the most dramatic of all door openings, but it would do its job. Futaba _was_ the one to let them in after all.

Akechi ends up being the first one through that point of no entry, and yet, there’s a moment just before he enters, when he reaches to adjust his gloves and Akira sees that his hands are shaking. He’s not really sure what to make of that, isn’t even sure if it necessarily _means_ anything. So, he ignores it for now.

Making his way into her room, the first thing he registers is that it’s...a mess. Far worse than the attic had been when he’d first moved in, which is really saying something. If his parents had ever walked in to see his room in this kind of state back when he lived at home, well, he definitely would have gotten a lecture; although, he’s not sure if that would have been before or after his mother fainted.

Yet, while Futaba’s room is filled with a very wide array of _things_ , she herself seems to be missing. Missing because she decided to hide...in the closet.

Akira really should have seen this coming.

“Even if that door’s opened up, we’ll get stopped again inside,” Morgana says as they all stare at the new place Futaba has decided to lock herself away in. “I bet a fence or something formed right in front of the treasure now,” he concludes, and Akira can’t help but wonder what kind of fencing structure would appear in the Metaverse. If it was a white picket fence, he’s pretty sure they could put up a fair fight. But if it was one of those fancy electric ones they might have a problem. He always hated those-

“Th-This makes no sense!” Futaba says from inside the closet. “Explain yourselves!”

Then again, how exactly did a closet door translate into the Metaverse? Would the entire rest of the room within the palace then be altered to reflect the inside of her closet?-

“Woah...she talked!” Ryuji says, as if he’d really thought she’d been incapable of speech.

 _Or_ would the fence actually be a giant version of the closet door itself? Only it’d be completely massive and they’d be unable to slide it open. Which did beg the question-

“We just really need you to open up the door,” Ann is saying, “because it’s uh...important to help us get through in the other word!”

“The...other world?” Futaba questions.

If they had the ability to technically bust through doors in the real world, couldn't they just break through them in the Metaverse too? What even happened if you forced yourself through cognitive barriers?-

“Yeah! It’s where we beat up shadows of people to help them in the real world!” Ryuji says with a grin.

“It’s a world where the intricacies of the mind are elevated to art,” Yusuke adds.

 _Was_ it even possible to force your way through? It sure would make things a lot faster if they didn’t need to constantly go back and forth from the real world, but it also didn’t exactly sound like a healthy thing to do. He’d have to ask Morgana later.

“Would _someone_ just mention cognition already!?” Morgana yowls.

“I highly doubt that she’d understand that even if we tried to explain it to her,” Yusuke tells him, and it’s at that point that Akira realizes he should probably be helping.

“Your cognition needs to be changed in order for us to change your heart,” Akira quickly adds, stepping forward. He feels like he probably missed a bit, but he thinks he gets the general idea of what needed to be said anyway. “You need to let us in.”

“So, basically,” Futaba answers almost immediately. “My cognition is being a hindrance, keeping you away from the core of my cognitive world?”

“See!?” Morgana says. “Don’t any of you remember what Akechi said? Futaba’s mom worked in cognitive research! It makes sense that Futaba would know about cognition!”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that,” Ann says.

Suddenly reminded of his... _rival_ , as the others continue to speak with Futaba, Akira finds himself searching out Akechi who’d been suspiciously quiet during that entire fiasco. He finds him simply looking around the room, seeming to be lost in his own head. His general quietness is similar to the way he’d acted when they’d first encountered Futaba’s shadow, except while before there had been silent horror written across the plains of his face, this time he seems more contemplative. Gazing around her room with a quiet fascination as the others speak, while at the same time looking a bit uncomfortable. The determination in the set of his shoulders never ebbs or wanes, but the tension no longer seems in danger of snapping his spine as he instead seems to be at least a little more calm this time around.

Distantly he’s aware that Ryuji is asking Futaba about why she hadn’t just asked for help instead of hiding behind Alibaba, and Akira tears his gaze away from Akechi to listen.

“Cause’ I’d been embarrassed!” Futaba admits, still locked within her closet prison.

“I think I get it,” Ann says after a moment, her tone somber. “Asking someone for help isn’t that easy.”

Akira’s thoughts immediately go to Shiho, and he gets why Ann feels the way she does. Yet, from the corner of his eye, he catches the way Akechi’s gaze lowers at her words, looking as if he too understood the feeling. _He’s probably thinking of his mother,_ Akira surmises.

“Wait. Futaba-chan,” Ann says, suddenly looking determined. “Did you really kill your mother?” And Akira sees the moment Akechi stiffens, his gaze flying to Ann, while Akira does the same, unable to believe what he’s hearing.

“Woah, you moron…!” Ryuji hisses.

“Wasn’t her death an accident?” Ann continues on. It’s a little like watching a train wreck and Akira is at a loss of what to do. “What actually happened? Maternity neurosis? Is that really true?”

“Of course it’s not true!” Akechi snaps, stepping forward with fire in his eyes. As everyone freezes and looks to him he visibly takes a steep inhale of breath, and continues much more calmly, “If what we saw in her palace is anything to go by, her memories have been distorted and she herself doesn’t even remember what really happened. There’s no use in questioning her about it.”

“You’re right,” Ann says, looking genuinely regretful. “I’m so sorry Futaba-chan. A lot happened, so...I’m sorry.”

At her words, some of Akechi’s tension seems to ease again. Just in time for the closet door to slide open as Futaba’s small stature and bright orange hair comes into view as she practically launches herself out.

“Th-There! Now steal it!” Futaba says, her arms held up in a pose that’s as confusing as it is awkward looking. She sure knew how to make an entrance. Well, at least she was out now, Akira could work with that.

“We can’t, at least not yet,” Akira quickly says, taking the calling card from his pocket and moving to hand it over before she got any ideas of going back into her closet-cave. The calling card at least seems to distract her as she takes it and looks at it in confusion.

“A calling card?”

“Yeah, it’s the one you sent us,” Ryuji explains before Akira can. “Make sure you read it after we leave.”

She looks up, expression curious as if she’s honestly trying to make sense of things in her head.

“And...that’s necessary for you to steal my heart?”

“It is,” Akira tells her with a nod. She purses her lips in response, staring back down at the calling card with sightless eyes.

“So, you guys can really go there?” Futaba asks quietly. “To the cognitive world?”

“Yep it’s easy,” Ryuji tells her with a grin. “You just have to use the app.”

“The _app_?”

“Yeah!” Ann answers her this time. “You just have to tell it the right information! A name, a place, and a distortion.”

It was all well and good that his friends were excited about sharing information, but Akira does have a very _slight_ concern about telling her all of this.

“You don’t happen to have the app, do you?” Akira asks. He really hopes she doesn’t because he has no idea how he’s going to explain to Sojiro that he not only broke into his house two times but also may have taught his daughter how to access a world that had the ability to kill her.

“No,” she shakes her head to Akira’s immediate relief. “I don’t.”

“Then I think it’s about time we got going,” Akechi says, stepping forward. In response, Futaba frowns and looks down at the card again.

“Can you take me with you too?” she asks, to which Akira gives an immediate and firm:

“No.”

She nods as if she’d expected that, but nonetheless doesn’t seem pleased. “I’ll leave it to you then.”

It’s for the best, Akira knows this, but he can’t help but feel the slightest bit guilty when they leave her alone in her room, the calling card held within her small hands.

***

Not long after that, they’re back inside her palace once more.

At the top of the steps, the cognitive door that once barred their way opens before them, revealing the path forward. And as they make their way to the top through the last of her palace, Crow cuts down shadows with lethal efficiency in a way that’s nothing like the blind rage he’d exhibited before. The team falls into place around him, Joker handing out orders that they all immediately follow. It doesn’t take them long at all to make progress, and everything is going extremely well. Well enough that Joker is expecting a quick and easy victory.

And then they reach the top.

The treasure appears to be inside some kind of sarcophagus. Which Joker has _several_ concerns about because he’s really not too keen on the idea of having to carry out some kind of mummy creature. He’s sure it would transform into something much more explainable once they hit the real world, but either way, carrying dead things was not on his priority list.

But before they can even push open the lid, the entire room begins to shake from the echo of a cry that sounds genuinely horrifying. His horror only grows when a mass of stone tumbles from the ceiling, leaving an opening that reveals a huge eye of _something_.

Whatever it is, it screeches Futaba’s name, its voice echoing across the walls and causing the entire floor to tremble. Joker’s hand flies to the hilt of the gun at his side as he prepares himself for _whatever it is._

Of course, it’s only when the rest of the pyramid roof crumbles in a powerful gust of wind that the true nature of their opponent is revealed.

Wakaba Isshiki, is a monster.

Both in a literal sense in the palace, and in a figurative sense within Futaba’s mind. Akira tries his best not to dwell on the intricacies that lay within that correlation, not after the things they’d witnessed throughout the palace, the walls they’d literally crumbled on the path to opening up her heart. Still, terms such as _Maternal Neurosis_ twist around the crevice of his mind, unable to be forgotten through the memory of Crow losing himself in fury.

As they others debate whether the creature is a shadow or cognition, Joker has already connected the puzzle pieces in his head and knows that the same woman in the art on the walls was the same woman they were facing now. Through the powerful gusts of wind that threaten to blow them all away, Joker automatically looks for Crow and finds him managing to stand his ground. The wind whips his hair around his face, revealing an expression that seems _haunted_ , but before he can dwell too much on that, Crow’s gaze finds its way to something overhead, and in the next moment Joker’s being tackled to the ground.

“Don’t be so careless!” Crow hisses, the intensity and wait of his gaze pinning Joker down in a way no stone ever could.

“Right, sorry.” Joker mutters, finding himself in a daze as Crow stands and pulls him back up to his feet. And then just like that he’s gone, while Joker is caught looking at the massive stone pile where he just stood, and is trying his best to process the fact that Crow might have just saved his life. He snaps out of it when another piece of stone lands a little too close for comfort, and he allows Joker to fully take over once more.

And then they’re back to fighting for their lives.

The palace monster starts out too far away for them to reach, so Joker calls out orders for everyone to focus on support skills and magical attacks. Robin Hood reigns down blasts of light and arrows, almost all of them hitting their mark. Carmen tosses out blasts of fire, and Joker summons Thoth to try to hit it with psi skills. Joker leaps back when the cognition slams down at them with its massive paw, but it catches Skull on his side, and Mona is quick to switch from wind skills to healing.

Still, for as much as they throw at it, the cognition doesn’t slow. And Joker is well aware that the more they attack and heal, the more weak and exhausted they become. It’s a losing battle, this much Joker knows. He’s considering a possible temporary retreat, at least until they can figure out a different approach, when a familiar head of bright orange hair appears in the corner of his vision.

And Futaba walks out onto the battlefield.

Through everyone’s immediate shock, Joker notices a flash of _something_ across Crow’s expression, but then it’s quickly buried under a veneer of calm, his face betraying nothing of what was going on in that head of his.

So, Joker turns the full weight of his attention back to Futaba.

She seems strangely calm despite the place she’s found herself in and the fact that she’s suddenly looking at a giant monstrous version of her long-dead mother. It’s only when the voices fill the air around them, those same ones they’d heard throughout the palace, that Futaba _breaks_ , crumpling to her knees before them.

“It’s my fault…” Futaba says weakly. “It’s my fault that mom…”

From the corner of his eye, Joker watches as Crow steps forward only to immediately stop with a jolt when Wakaba’s voice once again screeches out, Crow’s hands tightening into fists at his sides in response.

**_“That’s right. You killed me!”_ **

**_“You are nothing but a demon who stood in my way! I wish you had never been born!”_ **

And it _continues_. The jeers getting worse and worse as it goes on without stopping.

There’s a reflection of that same fury they’d seen from him before that makes itself known in Crow’s expression as he stands there and listens. It only increases as time goes on, the fire burning brighter and brighter. As the weight of Futaba’s true distortion is revealed and she lies crumpled on the ground, unable to bare it, Joker catches the clenching of Crow’s fists and the stiffening of his posture, and he thinks, _it’s only a matter of time before something breaks-_

But then, Futaba’s shadow appears.

“Futaba Sakura, _remember_ ,” she says, and everything comes to a stop.

Time seems to come to a standstill, Futaba fighting a battle that they cannot see and cannot help with as the harsh sunlight beats down on them and the cognition of her mother continues her threatening circling through the air. And yet, with a strength that borders on inspiring, Futaba eventually stands on her own two feet. Standing strong once more after whatever inner battle she’d had within her own heart.

“I won’t let those distorted lies deceive me anymore…” she says, her voice unwavering. “And I won’t be led astray by other’s voices either. I’m going to trust my own eyes and my own heart to distinguish the truth from the lies.” And with a voice ringing with strength and determination, she turns towards the creature with the face of her mother and cries out, “There’s no way you’re my mom! You’re just a fake created by those horrid adults! I’ll never...I’ll never… _I’ll never forgive them_!”

And, with that, she accepts her shadow as a part of herself, accepting the _truth_ once more. It might actually be one of the most inspiring scenes Joker has ever witnessed and he feels an unexplainable sense of pride deep in his heart. As her persona takes form, Joker tears his eyes away from the scene in front of them to look at Crow, and finds that although his face is expressionless his eyes are suspiciously bright.

But there’s no time to dwell on that as, in the next moment, they’re thrown into battle once more. Only this time, they have Futaba and her persona to aid them.

During the battle, Crow fights harder than Joker has ever seen him.

Every time Wakaba comes in close to the ledge, Crow attacks her with unmatched speed and proficiency. In a way he’s like a storm all his own, no trace of the almost mindless rage he’d shown the last time, and yet his every move is still just as deadly. Joker can’t focus on him for too long, not when he needs to concentrate on aiming his own attacks, throwing out orders, and healing when necessary. And yet, the glimpses that he gets of Crow are as intense as they are beautiful- for as much of a strange thought that is.

With Joker’s leadership, Crow’s raw display of strength, and Futaba’s aid, it’s not long before the cognitive monster is defeated and the actual form of Wakaba is revealed.

When Wakaba returns as a human, the true mother that Futaba remembers her as, Joker looks over at Crow and notices him looking off far beyond the pyramid to the endless ocean of sand. Joker finds it a bit strange, and yet finds himself thinking about what Crow had told him about his mother. It’s not like everyone got the chance to see their dead mother return from the grave, even if it was only as a cognition.

Yet, almost as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Crow’s gaze finds his own, and there’s something that might be _peace_ there. Relief maybe? Joker isn’t quite sure what to make of it, but at least looking at him now, it seems as if the worst of it is behind them.

Or, at the very least, he hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So from here on out we're going to be changing the day we upload to Monday instead of Friday, so this upcoming Monday kiva's going to be posting her chapter! So be very excited for that :3
> 
> [Aquarium Date Fanart](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1359181675310292994?s=20) and [Futaba's Palace Fanart](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1359556406807064576?s=20) by Maha for this chapter!


	10. GORO V: Enough Rope To Hang Yourself With

At the beginning of the year, when Shido and Goro both were flush with confidence of their impending victories, Goro attended one of Shido’s ‘campaign conferences’.

The entire inner ring of the conspiracy had been invited; all of them aware of Goro’s role and function within the conspiracy. It had been an event crammed inside a glitzy, smoky room at a high-end nightclub, with alcohol flowing swift and fast, adults exposing their true vulgar selves with leering smiles and grasping hands, and Goro pretending to enjoy himself. 

At the time he had thought of himself as so clever, so mature - he had clawed his way to the place of Shido’s right hand man, _trusted,_ treated as an adult even! In retrospect, he had been blind. Shido had paraded him about like a prize attack dog on a leash, and Goro had stupidly puffed his chest out and wagged his tail as the adults praised him with sly grins and concealed amusement. 

He should have realised then and there that he was out of his depth.

The night had ended with him stumbling up the stairs to his apartment, nauseous and drunk and stinking of booze and cigarette smoke, with no real recollection of the journey back. He had taken home a bottle of whiskey too - unopened, expensive, clearly a gift of some kind. Shido might have given it to him, or one of his stooges, he couldn’t remember, but Goro had shoved the bottle into the back of his cupboard and mostly forgotten about it. 

Until now. 

_“-Medjed’s webpage was hacked and replaced with the Phantom Thieves’ insignia, declaring their victory over the infamous hacker organisation. The supposed leader of Medjed had also been doxxed, the president of the IT Company-”_

“I bet Shido’s gonna be piiiiissed if that wasn’t the planned patsy…” Goro slurred to himself, clumsily pouring out another shot of the whiskey into a medicine cup that he repurposed for this event. The bottle was two-thirds full at this point, and Goro was realising that whiskey had one hell of a kick when drunk straight and on an empty stomach. 

He didn’t care right now. 

Ever since the conclusion of Futaba’s Palace, he felt like he was standing on a crossroads of sorts. He had felt - relieved? Happy? Something like it, in the initial aftermath. It was the first time he had been confronted so directly with a consequence of one of his - one of his jobs, and to see that it landed someone in the same position as him… and Futaba wasn’t a terrible person like him, so it was even worse, right? Right. 

But he had fixed it, and he had been strangely buoyed by the feeling. He balanced the scales of his karma by a fraction, and that had been enough. At least in this. Then he had gotten home after the Palace and Shido had a new job for him and- 

It had meant to be an easy Psychotic Breakdown. Shido didn’t care if he lived or died, just so long as his integrity was brought into disrepute, so Goro had decided to rush it, had re-entered Mementos that very night, sprinting to his target, drove the Shadow insane, then went straight back to bed without a care. His job was done. 

But the psychosis had been a delayed one. The target had ended up turning psychotic while driving his children to school the very next morning - and drove his vehicle into the middle of traffic, killing the entire family and injuring other drivers in the accident. 

_one good deed wiped out with a bad one,_ he thought dully to himself. 

He knocked back the shot, his tongue numb to the burning taste of it now, and coughed lightly as he slammed the cup back down. 

Futaba had woken up after spending two days in a stupor - the day after Goro destroyed yet another family - and had immediately launched her attack against Medjed ahead of schedule. The rest of the Phantom Thieves were still celebrating in the chat group, and Goro made sure to put in a perfunctory ‘well done’ to keep up appearances before grabbing his ill-gotten whiskey. He wanted to suffocate this awful, writhing feeling clawing at the insides of his chest cavity. 

He was desperately grasping for that fuzzy, distant feeling he had the last time he got drunk, at that shitty ‘campaign conference’, but it was avoiding him no matter how much whiskey he choked down. He just felt worse and worse and _worse_ \- or, that might be the alcohol sitting too heavily on an empty stomach. He was starting to feel extremely nauseous.

Goro stared at the whiskey bottle. Its edges were fuzzy and his eyes struggled to focus on it. Maybe he had too much for tonight. 

_“-regarding the accident yesterday in Shibuya, the police are still investigating the cause of the crash. A post-mortem report states that there were no drugs or alcohol in the driver’s system at the time, and there is no history of-”_

Goro grabbed the remote and turned the television off. The silence that followed on its heels was uncomfortably loud. 

His phone buzzed abruptly, and he reluctantly let himself be pulled into a game of ‘where the fuck did I put my phone’ to distract him from the stifling, oppressive silence of his apartment. He found it under the sofa cushion, and sat on the floor instead of trying to leverage him up onto the furniture, his cheek pressed against the sofa seat as he squinted at his screen. 

**[2034] Kurusu:** hey you ok? youve been really quiet today. 

Kurusu. Bane of his existence. 

Goro contemplated ignoring him, but then what if he called him? Or sicc’d the rest of the Phantom Thieves on him out of concern? They had Futaba now, she could definitely dig up his address on the internet and direct them to his sanctuary. Dealing with Kurusu now and pretending to be fine would be better than having them barge in and seeing him fucking drunk on his living room floor. How would he explain _that_ away?

“I am. Fine,” he told himself, carefully typing a response. His fingers and his phone’s autocorrect fought his attempts valiantly, “Hale- hearty- and _fine.”_

 **[2036] Me:** Imm fridge

 **[2037] Kurusu:**??? lol are you typing onehanded or smth?

Fuck. 

**[2041] Me:** Sorry. Autocorrect.

 **[2045] Me:** I am fine.

 **[2046] Kurusu:** You sure? It took you almost 5mins to type that…

Fucking _hell._

**[2047] Me:** Stop hennekdjing em

 **[2048] Kurusu:** w h a t??

 **[2050] Me:** IM BUSY GO SLEEP

For extra measure, Goro stuffed his phone back under the sofa cushion where it belonged and stayed sitting on the floor. He was quite comfortable where he was, in all honesty, his head feeling like it was attached to his body by a thin string, floaty and wobbling. Swaying like he was on a ship. He closed his eyes, breathing through the dizzy sensation, and realised he might’ve overdone it. 

He was an idiot. So what if he- if he killed someone in his psychotic breakdown? It wasn’t anything new. He could never predict what people did when under the influence of a psychotic breakdown or when the psychosis would actually take effect - majority of the time it was humiliating or only resulted in minor injuries or a coma, but sometimes the psychosis hit them when they were driving, or waiting for the train, and then… 

Goro didn’t know if it was sad or pathetic that the majority of his assassinations were accidental deaths. Shido always viewed it as a bonus, and Goro just consoled himself with ‘well, not really my fault, they’re the ones who decided to-’

His mind skirted around that statement nervously. What had once been a source of comfort became a source of unease instead. He couldn’t pinpoint when this change happened. He hadn’t cared before, just stared ahead at his end goal of _ruining_ Shido utterly, and damn whoever he trampled under his feet in the process, but… 

It must’ve been Futaba’s Palace. It had rattled something loose, and now it was pinballing inside his ribcage like a ricocheting bullet. It couldn’t be guilt, could it? He had smothered that emotion ages ago. He wasn’t guilty, and he didn’t feel _remorse_ either. He was determined, still confident, in his ability to follow through with his plan. 

Infiltrate the Phantom Thieves, have them take the fall for the Mental Shutdowns and Psychotic Breakdowns, then ruin Shido after he wins the elections. He was going to _follow through._

That wasn’t in doubt: he will destroy the Phantom Thieves and Shido in turn - but he didn’t know if he would derive any satisfaction from it anymore. 

“This is Kurusu’s fault,” he muttered, and carefully leveraged himself up off the floor. He felt uncomfortably hot and queasy now. The alcohol was turning sour in his stomach, “Making me feel… like having a conscience.” 

It was awful. He hated it. 

He crawled back onto the sofa, snagging the television remote and turning it back on. As he curled up into a pathetic little ball on the sofa, Shido’s smug face took up the screen, passionately decrying the abominable government response to the Medjed threat. 

_“-cannot believe that we relied on a vigilante group to stop the cyberthreat Medjed posed. If these ‘Phantom Thieves’ hadn’t engaged them in their challenge, who’s to say what damage could have been done to this country? Wasn’t it only last year that our medical infrastructure was stalled by a virulent Ransomeware attack? Our government promised a more robust defence in the cyberworld as a result, but where was this defence these past few weeks-”_

He looked so genuine. Shido always was at his best when working a crowd, oozing warm charisma and bold leadership that naturally drew even the most sceptical in. His voice and gestures were passionate, his expression that of genuine concern for the plight of the common man, and the interviewer ate it up, leaning in with shining eyes as Shido outlined how _he_ would have organised governmental resources to combat the Medjed threat, instead of relying on some rogue vigilante group beholden to no man. 

Only Goro knew what an absolute monster he was beneath that warm, caring guise. Yet, despite knowing his true nature, Goro still fell for this act like the rest of the brainless sheep of Japan. He watched Shido on the screen and felt an agonising longing coil through his viscera like barbed wire. All he could think was _‘why isn’t_ this _the real you’?_

_“-thank you for your time. I’m sure you’ve given many people to think about for the upcoming elections, Mr. Shido.”_

“Fake,” Goro muttered, “It’s all fake.” 

The news switched over to the weather - hot and humid again tomorrow, what a surprise - and Goro dragged a cushion over his face and held it there. His eyes were burning, and he loathed himself in that moment, for his weak, selfish heart that wanted impossible, shameful things. 

He hated Shido, hated him with every fibre of his being, and yet, still- _still-_

In a fit of anger, Goro launched the cushion at the television - but his drunken aim meant it went sailing a good foot to the left of it, harmlessly smacking against the wall and flopping to the floor. He didn’t let it get to him, uncoiling from his pathetic ball on the sofa and storming to his kitchenette, smacking his shins on the coffee table and almost tripping against his breakfast bar in the process. 

The soft haze of drunkenness which he had previously aimed for was now an aggravating hindrance. Getting a glass out of his cupboard turned out to be a near impossible task; with how clumsy he was now, his hand-eye coordination meant he almost dropped the fucking thing in the sink about five times before he gave up and just wrenched the tap on. Warm water spluttered out, and he cupped his hands under the spray, leaning down to splash his face until he felt more focused. 

He wasn’t going to drink again. This see-sawing, nauseous mood wasn’t worth it. He was stretched across several spectrums of emotions that threatened to smash his self-control into pieces. He wasn’t meant to dwell on this shit. He was meant to be charging forwards, eyes on the prize, never hesitating…

Goro wasn’t sure how long he stood there, leaning over the sink and watching the tap gurgle water down the drain. It was oddly mesmerising. 

The spell only broke when someone knocked on his door. 

He jolted in surprise, wildly looking up - only to quickly regret it when everything _lurched,_ a brief, drunken dizzy spell almost sending him to his knees. Who the hell was… 

Detective Prince slammed into place, and he quickly fumbled with the tap, turning it off, scraping his wet fingers through his hair so he looked less like he spent all evening trying to drink his misery away. He barely remembered the journey to the front door, wincing when another knock came through and wondering who the hell it could even be - the only people who visited him personally was Sae - for work purposes - or one of Shido’s goons whenever he needed to see him. 

Of course, it was neither of those. 

Goro cautiously opened the door, very aware that he was in nothing but his pyjamas - that being a ratty Featherman R t-shirt and a pair of loose shorts - only to slam the door shut the second he realised who exactly was on the other side. 

“Wow,” his visitor called through the door, “That was rude.”

Goro yanked the door open again, staring aghast at Kurusu and Morgana standing on his doorstep. 

“Rude?” Goro blurted, “What’s rude is visiting someone this late at night without calling ahead!”

...is what he tried to say with utter eloquence, but he sort of slurred and stumbled over his words like a moron, and Kurusu’s expression went from mildly amused to extremely alarmed within seconds. 

“Akechi,” Kurusu said, “Are you _drunk?”_

“No,” Goro lied immediately. 

“He smells of alcohol,” Morgana said, _sotto voce._

“No, that’s… s’not alcohol,” Goro said stupidly.

Kurusu lifted a hand; “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Are you serious?” 

“If you’re not drunk, you should be able to tell me how many fingers I’m holding up.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Goro glared at Akira’s hand. It kept sliding out of focus so he said, with as much confidence as he could despite taking a random guess; “Two.”

“I’m not holding up any,” Kurusu said, “You’re completely wasted, aren’t you?”

Goro, abruptly, felt childishly frustrated about this whole thing. Who did Kurusu think he was, invading his home and demanding he count his fingers? He was too drunk to deal with this, and he was sick of lying too, even about stupid, meaningless shit like this. He wanted to curl up on his sofa and feel miserable about his existence - except not really, because he hated feeling shitty about himself. He didn’t know what he wanted right now. 

“Why’re you here?” he said, evading Kurusu’s question entirely. 

“Because I was worried when you started texting total gibberish to me?” Kurusu sounded a little disbelieving.

“And it looks like we had good reason to be worried too,” Morgana chipped in, and Goro wasn’t sure how to feel about the cat giving him a very penetrating, albeit concerned stare, “This isn’t like you, Crow.”

Oh, it was _exactly_ like him. He was being true to his blood, becoming a pathetic, crazy drunk like his father when confronted with an emotional issue he struggled to stuff under the cognitive bed. He dragged his fingers through his hair, and realised he was having this argument on his _doorstep,_ where any nosy rubbernecker could eavesdrop and hear that the Detective Prince was off getting plastered in the evenings.

“I’m not- talking- about this- here,” he enunciated carefully, and took a very unsteady step back, granting a silent invitation for Kurusu to come in. 

Even when drunk he knew keeping him out would be stupid. Kurusu might start yelling at him through the door, attracting attention, or break in because he can pick locks too. Hell, he might even _climb through the window_ like a psychopath, for all Goro knew. No, better to give ground now and try to manage the battlefield in familiar ground like his living room. 

Of course, he forgot until Kurusu entered his apartment and stared at his coffee table that he left the whiskey bottle out. Goro felt weirdly ashamed when Kurusu turned to give him a very troubled look, one he evaded by pretending to be deeply involved in closing his front door. 

“Where did you get that?” Kurusu asked carefully, “It looks expensive.”

It did. The bottle was carefully crafted glass, with an ornate label. It even had an inscription but like fuck Goro could remember it now. Either way, it was clearly not a cheap bottle snuck out of an off-license or given by an unscrupulous adult who purchased it on his behalf. 

“I was given it,” he said vaguely, unable to pretend to be busy closing the door since it was now shut, and skulked around Kurusu to his kitchenette very slowly, feigning absolute sobriety. He made a weaving, wobbly line, but he didn’t walk into anything, so he counted it as a success. 

He didn’t have to look to know Kurusu and Morgana were exchanging _concerned_ glances. 

“By who?” Kurusu asked, following him into the kitchenette, “Akechi? Who gave you that?”

“Ugh, stop- worrying,” Goro snapped, picking up the glass he had abandoned in the sink before, “It wasn’t a pervert or anything. It was-” Well, it might’ve been a pervert, thinking about it. It had been one of Shido’s goons, he recalled suddenly, the memory cropping up with an abrupt, disgusting clarity that was like ‘ah, right, I remember why I forgot _you_ now’. 

“My father,” he blurted, picking the semi-truth and something least likely to have Kurusu go on a crusade against some imaginary predator, “He gave it to me.”

“Your _dad_ gave you _whiskey?”_ Morgana squawked indignantly. 

“Never said he was a _good_ one,” Goro muttered bitterly, the alcohol making him more honest than he was comfortable with. 

“Why did your father give you whiskey?” Kurusu asked. There was a thread of Joker in his tone now, that calculative, stern glint in his gaze like he was trying to figure out the best path to the Treasure, “Why are you even _drinking_ it?” 

Goro found himself unable to meet that stare. The conversation was slipping rapidly from his control, and he felt- 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, and filled his glass up with water. He was more successful this time. The churning shame he felt was surprisingly sobering. 

He thought Kurusu would push - Morgana certainly looked ready to launch into a Spanish Inquisition - but something in Goro’s tone must've made him back down. The look Kurusu gave him told him this wasn’t over, though - merely delayed. 

“Alright,” Kurusu said, “Have you eaten anything?”

“Kurusu,” Goro muttered. 

“Akechi,” Kurusu returned, like a literal five year old. 

Goro stared at him tiredly. 

“No,” he finally said, “I haven’t- eaten.”

“Okay, sit down. I’ll make you something,” Kurusu said briskly, and before Goro realised, he had been ousted out of his kitchen, glass of water in hand, while Kurusu raided his mostly empty cupboards grim-faced. The whiskey bottle was gone from the coffee table and Goro honestly had no clue where Kurusu hid it. 

“All you have are noodles!” Morgana yelled over to him from the breakfast bar. 

“I can’t cook,” Goro admitted, too bewildered to understand what was happening. 

“I guess it’s takeout then,” Kurusu decided, and he took out his mobile, still standing in Goro’s kitchenette, “Something greasy to soak up the alcohol.”

Goro doubted he could handle anything too heavy, and his gurgling, roiling stomach agreed, “No. I’m fine.” 

“Too late, I’m already ordering pizza,” Kurusu said. 

“What?” Goro said blankly. 

Later, he would blame it on a combination of exhaustion and alcohol that made him so compliant towards Kurusu’s outrageous demands. At that moment, however, Goro didn’t protest Kurusu ordering pizza and instead put his glass of water on the coffee table and laid down on the sofa. He was too tired. 

And nauseous. 

He must’ve dozed off - miraculously, considering he could faintly hear Kurusu move about his apartment. He had a very brief spasm of panic at the thought - did he have anything incriminating out? - but then settled when he realised that the only incriminating thing was Shido’s burner phone, and that was safely locked away in his briefcase. He trusted Kurusu not to snoop _that_ deeply into his things. 

…

He trusted Kurusu… 

The doorbell rang as that shocking realisation raced through him, and he opened his eyes to the sound of the door opening and low voices murmuring. A minute later and Kurusu walked into view, holding a pizza box and giving him a worried look. 

“You good?” Kurusu asked. 

“Mngh,” Goro answered.

“Come on,” Kurusu said, putting down his pizza box on the coffee table, “Sit up a little. A bit of food will make you feel better.” 

And that was how it ended up - Goro propped up against the arm of his sofa with his legs resting across Kurusu’s lap. The physical contact felt weird, but not in a bad way, Kurusu’s hand lightly curled around his calf, bare skin against bare skin. It was very warm. 

“Okay, Mona, you’re in charge of the TV,” Kurusu said, as Goro picked unenthusiastically at his pizza slice, “Pick something good.” 

Morgana hopped up onto the sofa - then onto Goro’s stomach, the television remote clenched in his kitten jaws as he circled once, twice, then curled up in a comfortable position, the remote in between his paws, “I won’t let you down, Joker.”

“Why does the cat get to pick?” Goro grumbled.

“I’m not a cat!” 

“Do you want to pick?” Kurusu asked. 

Goro couldn’t even look at the television without going cross-eyed, so he shrugged and took a bite out of his pizza. It was pepperoni and cheese. Adequate. 

Morgana picked an action film, because of course he did, a lot of loud noises, corny speeches, and unrealistic physics. It was like a snapshot of their misadventures in the Metaverse, he thought uncharitably, stubbornly choking down two slices of pizza to make Kurusu happy. Once he was done, he settled back against the sofa cushions and made himself comfortable. 

Too comfortable. 

His mood felt strange. It had shaken off that toxic self-loathing and anger and settled somewhere less certain. At some point Kurusu’s hand had shifted to rest on his knee instead, his thumb pressing against the side of it with a delicate pressure. The thumb moved in a slow, soothing circle, and it made Goro drowsier and drowsier and drowsier, his slowed breathing almost matching Morgana’s snuffling snores...

“Was it Futaba’s Palace that upset you?” Kurusu asked suddenly.

Goro said nothing at first. Kurusu didn’t seem to mind the wait, just continued to rub that slow circle. Did he know he was doing that? 

“It was fake,” Goro answered, after too long a pause passed. 

“Hm?”

“Her mother’s… cognition…” he continued, “Futaba wanted Wakaba to forgive her, so that’s what her cognition gave her.”

Kurusu didn’t say anything to that. 

“The fantasy’s better than reality,” Goro finished, “That’s all.” 

Kurusu squeezed his knee gently, “Are we talking about Futaba’s mother still?”

Goro watched the television beneath his eyelashes, only seeing smeared colours and shapes as the movie continued to play. He took a snapshot of this moment, cosy, warm, the weight of Morgana resting on his stomach and Akira’s hand on his knee, and knew he didn’t deserve a single moment of it. 

“... yes,” Goro lied. 

Kurusu squeezed his knee again, as if sensing his dishonesty, but didn’t push. 

Sleep claimed Goro not long after that, and it was neither fitful nor restful. 

* * *

Goro woke up some indeterminable amount of time later. 

He was curled up on his sofa, his duvet draped over him - taken from his bed, probably - with something warm and furry resting against the crook of his neck. Said warm and furry thing was breathing, and when he squinted his eyes open, all he saw was fur. Morgana. 

_mngh?_ His brain managed. 

He felt like death, a sluggish headache thumping behind his eyes. Dehydration. His stomach felt touchy too, his muscles stiff and achy as he shifted into a smaller ball, closing his eyes again. He didn’t know what time it was, but he felt like it was too early to-

He heard the creak of a door somewhere in his apartment and was abruptly awake. 

He listened to the scuff of socked feet against his floor draw close and - Kurusu’s voice whispering; “Are you awake?”

Oh. Right. He forgot. 

“Regrettably,” Goro muttered, his voice rough and scratchy, “The cat’s asleep still.”

“M’not… cat…” Morgana mumbled in his sleep. 

“Okay, you can go back to sleep,” Kurusu continued to whisper, “I’ll get us breakfast.”

And- 

And Goro should’ve declined. He should’ve excavated the broken remains of the Detective Prince and kicked Kurusu out of his apartment and life with aggressive politeness. He should have slammed the boundary line between them and put a stop to whatever this- _this_ was before it got well out of control.

He did none of that. 

Instead Goro snuggled deeper under the warm, comfortable weight of his duvet, with Morgana snoring right into his ear, and mumbled; “‘kay.”

He dropped back to sleep just as Kurusu murmured his reply. 

* * *

“I can’t believe you slept on my floor.”

“What? There was nowhere else to sleep.”

Goro took an aggressive bite out of his breakfast egg muffin, ravenously hungry despite catching the wrong end of a brutal hangover. They were both seated on his sofa, Goro wrapped up in his duvet and resembling some sort of giant cocoon while Kurusu and Morgana were left out in the cold. Not that Kurusu or Morgana seemed to care, busy as they were stuffing their faces with pancakes. 

He couldn’t believe Kurusu’s idea of breakfast was fucking _Big Bang Burger takeout._

(not that he was complaining, this egg muffin was really working hard to revive him)

“I have a spare futon in my closet,” Goro said after he swallowed, “Which you would’ve known if you had _asked permission_ to stay over.” 

“I would’ve asked, but you were asleep,” Kurusu says oh so reasonably, “I would’ve felt rude waking you up.”

A beat. 

“But I’ll know for next time now, thanks,” he finished. 

“There won’t _be_ a next time,” Goro gritted out, feeling a vein throb somewhere in his temple, “This was a one time thing, understand?”

Kurusu glanced over him then, all Joker. 

“Like you getting drunk was a one time thing?” he asked with all the innocence of a knife to the throat. 

Goro winced. It seemed his clemency was over. 

“...yes,” he said, “That was a one time thing. It was… a moment of weakness. It won’t happen again.” 

Kurusu evaluated him quietly. 

“I’d appreciate it if you told no one about it,” Goro continued, and he hated how he was having to ask Kurusu for this, how this infuriating rival of his kept digging up shameful, secret pieces of himself to confront and cringe away from. It was as if Hell itself spat Kurusu out to torment him. 

“I won’t,” Kurusu promised - too easily. 

Morgana said nothing, but he seemed a little disapproving of this secret keeping.

“Good,” Goro said. 

An awkward silence bloomed between them then. 

“...so!” Morgana said, slicing through the tense pause before it could really hook its claws in, “Are you joining us for the meeting in Leblanc, Crow?”

“What?” Goro glanced at the cat in confusion, “Meeting?”

“I guess you didn’t read the chat last night,” Kurusu said, “We decided to hold a meeting tomorrow to discuss the Futaba thing.”

“The ‘Futaba thing’?” Goro frowned, “What do you mean?”

“She’s a Persona-user now,” Kurusu continued, “A really powerful one, and she wants to join the group too, but… she’s still really bad with socialising and going outside.”

 _well, of course she is,_ Goro thought exasperatedly, _years of trauma don’t just evaporate because you beat the shit out of her issues in the cognitive world._

“So, you want to plan a way to acclimatise her to outdoor socialising?” Goro asked, “Is that what _she_ wants?” 

Kurusu looked a little wrong-footed, “Er.” 

“She prefers to socialise within the safety of her room, right? Then there is _no need_ to force her into discomforting situations against her will,” Goro growled, building up incensed momentum, “just to fit some arbitrary standard of _normality-”_

“She’s fine with it!” Kurusu said hurriedly, “I asked! I got permission!”

Goro glared at him.

“He’s telling the truth,” Morgana defended his leader loyally, “Futaba wants to try!”

“Hmm,” Goro drew the sound out, “Fine. I’ll supervise the endeavor.” 

Kurusu sighed in relief, “Uh, thanks.” 

Goro finished off his muffin, but he saw Kurusu peeking at him every so often with a strange expression, like Goro was some difficult puzzle that revealed it had a secondary stage to its method of solution. 

Tch. Kurusu was the real puzzle here, not Goro. 

“I should get ready,” Goro muttered, painfully aware of how dishevelled he was.

He left Kurusu behind in his living room, feeling a little strange about the whole affair. He locked the door to his bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked like a fucking mess, his hair a snarled, tangled bird’s nest to rival Kurusu’s, his face drawn and pale and his eyes bloodshot. He looked, in short, horribly hungover. 

“Fuck,” he said. 

He pulled the mirror cabinet open, revealing all the beauty products inside and - paused. 

Did he really want to put a mask on today?

He had nothing else planned - today was a free day for him, amazingly, unless Shido decided to task him with something out of the blue. After the meeting in Leblanc, he could literally just crawl back into bed and not move until tomorrow morning, when he had work. There was absolutely no need to pretty himself up and appear like the immaculate, perfect Detective Prince to a group of people who had already glimpsed under that glossy, fake veneer. 

Slowly, as if in a daze, he closed his mirror cabinet and stared at his pale, imperfect reflection. 

He didn’t want to be the Detective Prince today. 

Goro blew out a shaky exhale and did a basic freshening up instead. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and brushed his hair into submission, then tied it up into a loose ponytail. He looked a little better now, but still tired. He had dark bruises under his eyes. He made a face. 

“... I don’t care,” he lied to himself, and forcibly turned away from his awful reflection. 

Determined now, he marched from his bathroom to his bedroom, ignoring Kurusu in the living room. He delved right into the back of his closet, bypassing the sweater vests and expensive trousers to grab clothes he hadn’t really worn since his Detective Prince debut. He dressed in a well-worn, loose Featherman hoodie with a faded print of Black Condor on the front, and a comfortable pair of slacks. He fished out a black flu mask for extra measure, not wanting to be stopped on the street in case someone saw through his slovenly appearance and recognised him. Last thing he needed was a blog post about how the Detective Prince was skulking about dressed like a hobo. 

Once he was finished, he inspected himself in the mirror. With a derisive snort at himself, he tugged up his hood, yanking it down low. He looked like a celebrity trying to go incognito. 

When he returned to the living room, Kurusu and Morgana both did overdramatic doubletakes at his appearance. 

“Wha- _Crow?”_ Morgana gaped at him, “Why’re you dressed like that?”

“I’m hungover and tired,” Goro said flatly, his scratchy voice slightly muffled behind his flu mask, “So I’m pretending to have the flu.”

Kurusu was, for some bizarre reason, turning an interesting shade of red. 

“Kurusu?” Goro frowned at him, “Is something the matter?”

“Uh,” Kurusu jolted at being spoken to, his gaze snapping away from Goro like it was repulsed by the sight in front of him, “Um, yeah. I’m good- fine. I’m fine.” 

What the hell was wrong with him? Goro narrowed his eyes at the mysterious Phantom Thief, but Kurusu had turned away from him completely, busy clearing up the mess they left on the coffee table during breakfast. Morgana looked exasperated. 

“I understand how Lady Ann feels now,” the cat muttered under his breath. 

“You just put your shoes on, I’ll catch up,” Kurusu said quickly, and power-walked into the kitchenette, trash in hand. 

He honestly couldn’t understand this lunatic. 

Goro did as he was told, though. He shuffled to his front door, Morgana on his heels, and fished out his running trainers from the shoe rack. They were a little beaten up in places, the white outside streaked with grass and mud stains, but still sturdy and comfortable. 

Morgana was staring at him intently as he put his shoes on; “Joker really likes you, you know. He stayed all night to make sure you were okay.”

“I didn’t ask him to,” Goro said bluntly, all while thinking _‘joker_ likes _me? is he insane?’_

Morgana huffed at him.

It was interesting how upfront Morgana was in his distrust of him, while Kurusu was far more subtle. He wondered if they spoke about him, theorised and picked apart his behaviours and activities in an attempt to figure him out. Maybe Goro was worried about the wrong person and it should be Morgana he had to watch himself around. 

He yanked his shoelaces taut and smiled to himself. What an amusing thought. 

“What’s so funny?” Morgana asked suspiciously. 

“I didn’t know cats could eat pancakes,” Goro said as he straightened up, “You should be careful about what you eat, Morgana. It would be a shame if you accidentally poisoned yourself due to consuming someting incompatible to your digestive system.”

Morgana looked like he wasn’t sure if he should take this as a threat or not. 

Kurusu walked up to them then; “What’s this about poisoning Mona?”

“No one’s poisoning me!” Morgana hissed, shooting a smirking Goro a mistrustful look, “Or, they better not be!”

“Haha~ I’m merely teasing,” Goro said, hitching up a mockery of his Detective Prince politeness, “I just couldn’t help it. You’re so thin-skinned, Morgana, you can’t even take a basic insult. It’s a little sad.”

“At least I’m not a drunkard!” Morgana snapped. 

“ _Hey._ Come on, now,” Kurusu cut in, scooping the bristling cat up, “That was crossing a line.”

“Oh, no, the _cat’s_ right,” Goro said pleasantly, his smile showing teeth, “Judging me by last night’s behaviours, I can be delegated the title of ‘drunkard’. Mm? So easy to brush people off into a singular category after one bad impression, isn’t that right? _Kurusu?_ ”

Kurusu gave him a tired look. 

“You’re picking a fight with a cat,” Kurusu told him, ignoring Morgana’s obligatory _“I’m not a cat!”_. 

Damn it. He’s right. 

Goro’s expression went blank, “Well. He started it.”

Kurusu glanced up at the ceiling, as if asking for divine strength. 

“I did _not_ start it!” Morgana complained, but he went ignored as Kurusu set him down to tug on his own shoes. 

They left not long after that, only having to doubleback once when Goro realised he forgot his phone under his sofa cushion. His apartment wasn’t far from Yongen-Jaya, only four stops away when journeying by rail, so he had enough time to claim a seat on the train and wedge himself right into it in full blown antisocial mode. 

“Don’t talk to me,” he told Kurusu as the train started to move, “I’m too hungover to carry a conversation on the train.” 

Kurusu took this rejection with grace, talking to a still grumpy Morgana instead. It let Goro zone out, his head bowed and eyes shut, feeling the rocking motion of the train queasily churn his stomach. The egg muffin had gone a long way to perk him up, but it was sitting heavy now. Hopefully the queasiness will go the longer he stays awake. 

“-ave you heard?” someone said next to him, and he curiously glanced over under the brim of his hood to see a group of school girls huddled close together, phones out and in the centre of their little posse, “The Phantom Thieves totally owned Medjed!”

“Right? They took over their website _and_ doxxed their boss! How cool’s that?”

“Oh, come on, it was just a stunt. I mean, Medjed’s a _hacker_ group. They don’t have, like, one boss.” 

“Okay, so they doxxed _one of_ their bosses! That’s still pretty cool!”

“Is it? I mean the Detective Prince said that Medjed weren’t that big of a deal-”

“He changed his opinion really recently, though, right? Uh, I think it was the night before the Phantom Thieves wrecked Medjed’s shit. He said they might actually pose a big threat to Japan’s infrastructure based on new information…”

“Pffft, I mean, isn’t the Detective Prince really against the Phantom Thieves?”

“Oh, yeah! He said he was planning on bringing them to justice!”

“But, I mean, they’re doing justice, right? They exposed all those bad guys, caught that mob boss _and_ saved Japan against a big hacker group! Why would you wanna arrest them?”

“Maybe the Detective Prince is jealous of them getting more popular than him?”

“Oh, he does seem like the jealous type, yeah?”

“A real _prince._ He’s probably super spoiled and stuff-”

“Yeah! Who even knows if he’s really a detective, you know? Maybe his parents are super rich and paid off the police to-”

Goro stopped listening. Great. The gossip vultures were out in force. 

They arrived at Yongen-Jaya station not long after that, and Goro reluctantly heaved himself out of his seat and trudged after Kurusu into the mid-morning sun. The natural chill of the early morning was giving way to a sticky, humid heat, and he could feel sweat start to bead at his hairline. He kept his hood up, though. The conversation he overheard on the train had rattled him a little. 

It was stupid, but he hadn’t considered what would happen to his reputation as the Phantom Thieves grew in popularity. Goro had positioned himself as their public enemy, after all, and as more people sympathised and sided with the Phantom Thieves, Goro was risking becoming a focus for their ire. He was certain he’d still have a solid core of fans, but his reputation was at risk of taking a hit. 

_closing me off to the deeper levels of Mementos,_ Goro thought worriedly, _that won’t be good._

Except, he would count as a Phantom Thief, wouldn’t he? Would their popularity transfer to him if he was roaming Mementos by himself? Or would it only be the reputation of the Detective Prince? Did it rely on his cognition at the time, who he more closely associated with himself mentally?

Goro’s head pounded with a low grade headache, his mind swimming with the lingering effects of alcohol. He shoved aside the problem for later. He couldn’t think straight right now. 

“You okay?” Kurusu asked him, having noticed his unsteady gait. 

“Fine,” Goro muttered. 

They reached Leblanc not long after that. As always it was empty except for Sojiro, and the man did a double take when he belatedly recognised the hooded and masked person stalking on his ward’s heels. 

“Avoiding the fans, huh?” the cafe owner asked wryly.

“Something like that,” Goro said tiredly, scrounging up a ghost of his Detective Prince facade. It fell completely flat. 

“Hm, well no one will bother you here,” Sojiro said, and returned to his crossword puzzle. 

Kurusu all but strongarmed him into a booth, denying Goro’s usual seat at the bar. Goro grumpily complied, wedging himself into the booth’s, and found it to be a surprisingly very comfortable spot. Exhaustion clawed at him, the low-grade headache morphing into an insistent thump that pounded at his temples in time with his pulse. If he were a weaker man, he’d claim he was in the process of dying rather than clutched in the relentless grip of a brutal hangover. As it were, he rested the side of his head against the booth’s wall - and instantly dozed off. 

He woke up to Sakamoto whisper-shouting right next to him some unknown time later. His mouth was dry and his headache had migrated from his temples to somewhere behind his eyes. It really did not appreciate Sakamoto’s whisper-shouting. 

God, give him strength. 

“The hell is this bullshit?” the blond growled, “What’s with all these assholes talkin’ shit on our Phansite?”

“This is awful, I didn’t expect this after taking down Medjed…” Ann groaned.

Disorientated and annoyed, Goro forced himself to revive against his dying body’s will, cracking an eye open to see that during his ill-advised slumber, the booth he had claimed was now filled with fellow Phantom Thieves. Sakamoto was directly next to him, Kurusu across from him, and Ann and Kitagawa perched on the end of the booth’s seats. Morgana was holding court on the table itself. That meant Sojiro wasn’t here. 

Kurusu noticed him awake first, “Oh, hey. You feeling better?”

“W’m’ke,” Goro mumbled, his brain not connected to his mouth yet. 

“Is he still asleep?” Sakamoto asked, sounding amused. 

“Ugh,” Goro sat up, ‘accidentally’ elbowing Sakamoto in the ribs in the process, “What- when did everyone get here?”

“Only five minutes ago,” Ann said quickly. 

Goro rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, “Oh, I’m- sorry. You should have woken me up…”

“Akira told us you were ill,” Sakamoto said, “Man, you should’ve just stayed in bed instead of forcing yourself to come here. We wouldn’t’ve been mad.” 

So, Kurusu kept his word. He hadn’t told them. 

A tight knot that had sat in Goro’s chest loosened a little, and he glanced over at Kurusu as he said, “I was well enough to attend, so I thought I’d make the effort.”

Strangely, Kurusu didn’t seem happy. In fact, there was a thunderous look about him, a flinty edge to his gaze as he looked away from the group to his phone. Goro was briefly confused - had he done something wrong?

“Um, so,” Ann said, in a tone normally reserved for bad news, “Goro, I feel like we should warn you. The Medjed thing had… unintended consequences.”

Goro’s mind instantly snapped to the worst possible conclusions, all ranging from ‘Futaba messed up and now Shido knows all of your identities and home addresses’ to ‘Futaba discovered Shido is the ringleader of a conspiracy amongst the upper echelons of Japan’s elite and that he’s also your father’. He wasn’t sure which one was more horrifying. 

“Oh?” he asked mildly, securely keeping his freak out locked away in the safety of his mind. 

“The Phantom Thieves got really popular, but…” Sakamoto fidgeted, looking both guilty and angry in equal measure. 

“In turn, your popularity has reversed,” Kitagawa said with a placid sort of calm. He was sketching something, the movements of his pencil certain and precise, “As the Phantom Thieves were elevated as heroes in the public’s eye, you have been delegated as something of a villain.”

Oh. Of course. 

“That’s understandable,” Goro said tonelessly, “I never made it a secret that I opposed the Phantom Thieves’ vigilante justice in public. It stands to reason that their fans would be eager to tear me down in their defence.” 

“But- but we didn’t ask them to do that!” Sakamoto protested. 

“We don’t have to,” Ann said awkwardly, “They’re just using our name for clout. Ugh...”

As the conversation progressed, the space around Kurusu seemed to grow colder and darker. Goro found himself fascinated by the transformation, how Akira peeled away to reveal the furious Joker underneath in a setting as mundane as Leblanc. Kurusu’s thumb was agitatedly tapping the side of his phone case, the thumbnail catching on the plastic in a rhythmic _‘tkc tkc tkc’_ noise. 

“There’s no need to be upset,” Goro said slowly, unable to look away from Kurusu, “It’ll stop once they grow bored of it.”

“Dude, _you_ should be upset! They’re sayin’ such shitty things about you,” Ryuji grumbled, “I bet they’d change their tune fast if they knew you were a Phantom Thief!”

Goro sighed, and tugged his hood and face mask down. It was getting too hot, “Sakamoto, I would be _arrested_ if they knew I was a Phantom Thief.”

“Oh…” Ryuji rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, “Right.” 

“Besides, such things are expected in the life of a celebrity,” Goro continued, hitching up the Detective Prince mask and offering a winsome smile. Strangely, the others didn’t seem reassured by his sparkling confidence. They looked worried; “It’ll pass, as all storms do.”

“If you’re sure…” Ann said doubtfully.

Kurusu was staring at him sceptically. No doubt he was recalling last night’s drunken escapade and was harbouring concerns on Goro’s ability to weather being a social pariah. 

_stop looking at me like i’m something to be pitied!_ something ugly and vicious snarled inside of him. 

“I’m sure,” Goro said firmly, glaring at Kurusu with venomous heat, “In any case, dwelling on it won’t solve anything, so perhaps we should discuss what we met here for, hm?”

“He’s right,” Morgana spoke up. He was giving Goro an unreadable look, “We came here to talk about Futaba and how to help her bond with the rest of us.” 

“Oh, yeah, I was thinking we should take her to Harajuku or Akihabara,” Ann said, quickly distracted by the new topic - or maybe she just sensed the brewing tension between Goro and Kurusu, who were now locked in a narrow-eyed staring contest, and sought to disrupt it. 

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Sakamoto asked doubtfully. 

“Every girl likes a shopping trip!” Ann said, “And Futaba likes techy stuff, right? Well, those places sell that stuff!”

“Perhaps we should start with something less grand,” Kitagawa mused, “Leblanc, perhaps?”

“Good idea, Kitagawa,” Goro said, not looking away from Kurusu. He isn’t going to blink first, “Shocking her system by dragging her to a busy locale will do more harm than good.” 

“I agree,” Kurusu said, his eyes narrowing a fraction. He wanted to blink. Goro could _sense_ it, “We should hang out with her in a place she feels comfortable with.” 

“Like her room?” Sakamoto said, “Not sure Boss’ll like all us guys hanging out in there. Oh, er, except you, though, Ann. You’re a girl.”

“Thanks for noticing.”

“What are you two doing?” Morgana asked suspiciously. 

“Staring contest,” Goro said promptly. 

“Asserting dominance,” Kurusu said at the same time. 

“Being dumb,” Ann sighed. 

Morgana looked between the two and, with exaggerated casualness, slowly padded over to Goro. Once he was close enough, he turned away and flicked his tail up - smacking Goro right on the chin.

Goro _blinked_. 

“Hah, I won,” Kurusu said smugly. 

“That was cheating!” Goro protested, shooting Morgana a dark look. The cat just stuck his tongue out at him, “Morgana interfered, it didn’t count!”

“Guys,” Ann interjected tiredly, “The Futaba thing.” 

“You two sure are competitive together, huh?” Sakamoto mused.

“An organic rivalry,” Kitagawa agreed, “There is always a bloom of passion whenever they lock gazes, heated and intense. Haha, indeed, it stimulates my own passion to witness it!.”

“Dude,” Sakamoto groaned, “ _Wording.”_

“I think we should ask Futaba for her opinion,” Goro said, aggressively ignoring whatever the hell Kitagawa just said, “This does involve her, after all.”

The moment he finished, his phone buzzed. 

With a heavy feeling of dread - please don’t be Sae with a tasking - Goro checked his phone, and blinked when he had a message from one ‘Alibaba’. 

**[1012] Alibaba:** I’m fine with Leblanc

 **[1012] Alibaba:** Also you and Akira have extreme UST lol 

**[1013] Alibaba:** I can feel it from over here. 

Goro frowned and muttered; “What’s UST?” 

Kurusu made a suspicious, coughing noise, just as Sakamoto leant into Goro’s space to read his messages. 

“Oh, Futaba says she’s happy with Leblanc,” Sakamoto said, “Well, that’s easy ‘nuff. More free drinks and curry!” 

“Ryuji! We really shouldn’t be taking advantage of Boss’s generosity like that,” Ann scolded. 

“I mean- I’m thinking about Yusuke here! He’d starve if it weren’t for Boss!”

Miffed that his question went unanswered, the other Phantom Thieves drawn into an argument over Kitagawa’s concerning eating habits, Goro googled it. 

“... I _do not_ have ‘unresolved sexual tension’ with Kurusu, Futaba!” Goro yelled, ignoring the shrill, bitten down laughing noise Ann let out in response to that. 

**[1018] Alibaba:** I’ve read enough fanfics to identify it. 

“ _Fanfics don’t reflect real life!”_

“Uh, Goro…” Ann giggled, “You do know you’re just yelling at thin air, right?”

Sakamoto looked like he was having a seizure, he was shaking that much from suppressing his laughter, and Kitagawa was putting the finishing flourishes on whatever masterpiece of a sketch he had been labouring over, seemingly unruffled by the commotion around him. Kurusu had slouched down so far in his seat Goro could feel his knees knock against his own. His face was a brilliant red. 

Morgana just looked unimpressed. 

“I am conversing with our newest teammate,” Goro said primly, refusing to let embarrassment touch him in front of these morons, “Who is too much of a coward to sling slander at me to my face, apparently.”

 **[1019] Alibaba:** Whore you calling a coward?

 **[1019] Alibaba: *** who’re

 **[1020] Alibaba:** Binch

“You spelt ‘bitch’ wrong,” Goro deadpanned. 

“Are they fighting…?” Sakamoto whispered. 

“Shhh, I think they’re bonding,” Ann whispered back, “Maybe.”

 **[1020] Alibaba:** You’re such a nasty boi outside of ur detective prince huh

 **[1021] Alibaba:** Should’ve guessed

 **[1021] Alibaba:** But ok

 **[1021] Alibaba:** I’ll show you my true form

The door to Leblanc dramatically swung open, and everyone turned to see Futaba herself standing at the doorway… presumably, as a disturbing paper mache mask was sitting on her head, semi-concealing her identity. She was clutching her phone in a deathgrip between her hands, her thin shoulders drawn in tight like a turtle trying to retreat into its shell.

“I-I’m here,” Futaba declared bravely, her voice muffled by the mask, “And ready to socialise!” 

“Futaba!” Ann gasped, “Did you walk here all by yourself?”

“Yeah! It was fine! See?” Futaba took a few steps inside, and seemingly gained confidence once she realised she was in familiar territory. The mask remained in place as she came to a slow stop in front of their booth, fidgeting with her phone. 

Goro evaluated her. 

She was anxious, that was clear to see. He could see her shirt sticking to her from sweat where her hoodie was unzipped, and he doubted it was from the summer heat. Her knuckles were white, fingers gripping her phone so tight it was a miracle the plastic wasn’t groaning in protest - yet she was here. She wrestled with her fear to walk all the way to Leblanc by herself through her own will alone. 

“Congratulations,” he said, and he genuinely meant it. 

Futaba, however, took it in mockery, “H-Hey! It’s really far for me, okay!”

“What’s with that weird mask?” Sakamoto asked. 

“It’s- it’s my- socialising mask,” Futaba’s hands anxiously turned her phone over and over again between her sweaty palms, “It gives me- confidence.”

“It’s very…” Ann fished for a complimentary word, “Home-made!”

“Yeah, I-I made it myself…” Futaba mumbled. 

“It is outlandish and bizarre,” Kitagawa said bluntly, and was immune to the scorching glare Goro slung his way, “It reminds me of the tengu mask. Is that it’s function? To deter ‘bad vibes’?”

“Uh,” Futaba said. 

“Let the poor girl sit down before you start interrogating her,” Goro said dryly. 

“Yeah,” Kurusu said, “Or- hey, Futaba, do you want a drink? I can make you a coffee.”

“Did Dad teach you?” Futaba asked, and something in her thin shoulders slackened when Kurusu nodded, “Um- okay then.” 

It took a bit of shuffling, but the configuration of their group went through a dramatic change as Kurusu clawed free to take his place behind the counter. Goro took the opportunity to escape his prison trapped in the corner of the booth, perching at his usual seat with both hands clamped over the edge, like he expected Kurusu to drag him off by his ear at any moment. Futaba mirrored him, sitting on the stool two seats away from him, curiously squishing Morgana’s cheeks much to the cat’s verbal consternation. 

Sakamoto, Kitagawa and Ann remained at the booth, pleased at their extra space to stretch their legs and lounge. 

The dynamic of the cafe slid into something warm and comfortable. Goro was an outside observer to it all, watching the Phantom Thieves interact in that casual, friendly way of theirs, Futaba slowly slotting into it as if she always belonged. It shouldn’t bother him, really, as his place was always supposed to be temporary, but he still felt something strange and isolating watching them and knowing he was still an outsider. 

He pulled up his hood and mask again and leaned on the counter. Without the distraction of the others he was painfully aware of how awful he felt. He was never drinking again. 

“Here,” Kurusu intruded on his self-pity to set a cup of coffee in front of him, “You look like you need it.”

“Thank you,” Goro said honestly, “I do.” 

The coffee wasn’t how he usually had it. Emulating the adults he craved recognition from, he tended to order it black with no sugar - but Kurusu, either intuitively or through whatever black magic he used to divine things, had made it how he _actually_ liked it: mild with plenty of milk and sugar. Goro felt too ghastly to even pretend to dislike it.

“Boss has a toaster in the kitchen too, if you want some,” Kurusu offered, his voice pitched low enough that it went unheard by the rest, “Or I can get you water.”

“I’m _fine,_ Kurusu,” Goro muttered as he pulled down his flu mask, “Stop mothering me.” 

“Hm,” Kurusu said disapprovingly, but he obligingly left him alone. 

_he’s gotten pushy,_ Goro thought irritably, sipping the hot coffee carefully so he didn’t scald his tongue, _it seems he shows a spine when he’s worried about someone._

He just wasn’t sure how to feel about Kurusu worrying about _him._

The rustle of movement drew his attention, and he warily peered over his coffee to Futaba perching on the stool next to him. Her grotesque mask with its bulging eyes stared at him, and her thin arms were wrapped tight around Morgana, who seemed resigned to his fate as Futaba’s stress toy. 

“I, uh, noticed you’re- wearing a Black Condor hoodie,” she said, “Do you like Featherman?”

Distantly, Goro couldn’t help but find it funny that Futaba approached _him_ first out of everyone else. Not Kurusu who everyone fucking adored on sight, or any of the other friendlier, albeit weird, Phantom Thieves. Him: antisocial and irritable and hunched over his cup of coffee like a gargoyle just recently awakened from a thousand year slumber. 

“I do,” he said carefully. He wasn’t sure how to act - he _knew_ Futaba, or, a version of her. Had been her cognitive self’s playmate before he put a bullet in her-

Goro’s stomach did a very nauseous backflip. He didn’t finish the thought. 

“I like them too,” Futaba said, wiggling her seat from side to side, “Oh- er, are you feeling better, by the way? Akira was kinda worried last night when he asked me to find your address- which, uh, sounds kinda creepy but it was done out of genuine concern!”

Goro’s mind filtered through a set list of responses to that, before his mental fingers fumbled with them and sent the cognitive flashcards scattering on the floor. He didn’t want to lie - obviously, he wasn’t fine - but was he better? Yes? No? Physically worse, mentally… even worser. There was no positive answer to that question. 

“So-and-so,” he settled on after a far too long pause, “I… underestimated how strong some cold medicine was, and gave Kurusu undue concern. It was nothing major.” 

Morgana was giving him a _very pointed stare_ , but Goro ignored him. What? Like he was going to say ‘oh yes I drank myself sick last night in a bout of stupid depression and in all honesty I still feel like a worthless human being so thanks for you concern’. As if.

“Summer colds are no joke,” Futaba said, idly spinning her seat back and forth, “The worst debuff to get, yuck.” 

“Hhh, you’re making me seasick,” Morgana groaned. 

“Oops, sorry,” Futaba loosened her arms, and the cat hopped onto the counter, his long tail flicking the air. With her arms now free, she started fiddling with her hoodie zipper instead, fingers twisting and clenching the dark green fabric. 

An awkward silence threatened to bloom between them. Goro should be ensuring there’d be some distance between them - he didn’t want to slip up and act overfamiliar because the line blurred between _this_ Futaba and Cognitive Futaba - but he still found himself unconsciously adopting the Detective Prince’s more open body language, his mouth hitching into that placid smile to ease whatever discomfort Futaba might have. 

He couldn’t help it. He was… 

“Have you heard about the new Featherman Special?” he asked, his tone lightening into a facsimile of his friendly voice, “It’s meant to be an adaptation of the manga ‘Featherman: From The Ashes’.”

“I have!” Futaba instantly perked up, “I’m _so_ excited - but kinda not. The studio picking it up kinda have a hit or miss reputation - they either so _super good_ adaptations or _really bad_ ones, but From The Ashes is the _only_ manga where Black Condor and Red Hawk’s relationship really gets explored outside of the whole generic ‘we are rivals, grr, grr’ thing-”

Futaba will talk for hours about this, Goro knew from experience. In this, Wakaba had known her daughter well enough to have had this trait translate to Cognitive Futaba flawlessly. He couldn’t help but feel a wash of painful nostalgia as he watched Futaba gesture wildly, her voice rapidfire and barely contained within her ‘socialising mask’. She had a lot of opinions about From The Ashes and was aggressively sharing them to a willing listener. 

Just past Futaba’s shoulder, Kurusu was watching him with a strange expression. It was that same odd smile he wore during their aquarium visit. Goro didn’t know if it was mocking or something else. 

Their eyes met.

Goro looked away first. 

* * *

Of course, when he returned to his apartment just as the late afternoon began melting into the early evening, Shido had a last minute job lined up for him. 

It was sent by text on the burner phone: ‘damage control’. The target was some low-level manager of the same IT Company where the president had been exposed as a member of Medjed. As per usual, Goro was given no explanation for why the target was to undergo a psychotic breakdown - just a blunt order, a name, and a time of completion (within 24hrs). 

There would be no reasoning with Shido for pushing this back - especially as he was giving Goro the cold shoulder for some imagined slight or failure. Goro had no choice but to follow through, even if he felt like he was dying.

So he obeyed. 

Ignoring his body’s demands to crawl into bed and not move until morning, he lingered only long enough in his apartment to get a drink of water to wash down some painkillers. He didn’t anticipate much trouble, but he’d rather not wrangle a Shadow with his skull feeling like it was going to split open. 

The journey to Shibuya Station, the leap into Mementos, the long, exhausted walk through the winding, ominous tunnels that twisted down, down, down - Goro barely remembered it. There was a strange feeling churning inside of him, an alien reluctance and uneasiness that was making it difficult to muster the necessary rage and spite for the job to come. He was tired, and he didn’t want to be here. 

He found his target only a few floors down, a Sugihara Katsuro. He was a mousey looking young man, who stuttered and cringed from him, and transformed into a pathetic little Kodama when pushed. Summoning Loki to backhand the thing was overkill, in all honesty. 

“M-Mercy!” Sugihara wailed once he was beaten into submission, cowering from Goro looming over him, “I just did as I was told! I swear! I didn’t do anything- I didn’t expect the Phantom Thieves to have a hacker on their team, I-”

“Shut up,” Goro rasped. The man’s voice was shrill enough to aggravate his headache to blinding levels. 

The man shut up, still cowering, looking up at him with those wide, terrified yellow eyes that glittered like gold in the gloom of Mementos. A solid reference point when aiming your gun between them. 

Goro’s head hurt. 

Loki was still summoned and half-folded over him, patiently waiting, its face turned more towards Goro’s than Sugihara. Who was it watching? Him, or the Shadow? Who was Loki judging at that moment? Could his Persona sense his hesitation? The growing uncertainty inside of him - the- the lack of- the lack of willpower to-

No, he had the will. He did. 

“I’m not faltering,” he told his Persona, clutching his sword so tight his fingers hurt, “I’ve come too far to give up now.”

Loki’s head inclined a fraction, its frozen, savage grin almost mocking him. 

Goro’s head hurt. 

It was beyond the pressure of a simple hangover - it was too sharp and deep, like a crack had formed somewhere and it was being teased open by scrabbling fingernails. Goro closed his eyes and inhaled, could feel something teeter and strain. 

He wasn’t hesitating. He won’t hesitate. He can’t hesitate. 

Shido is almost within his grasp. Almost. 

Goro grasped for that ancient, boiling hatred, yanked it up like a thorny cloak that was familiar in its pain, and opened his eyes. 

Loki was no longer looking at him. It was staring at the quivering lump that was their target. 

“Call of Chaos,” Goro whispered.

It took more effort than it should’ve, for the madness to hook its claws into his victim. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as mentioned in the previous chapter, updates will now switch to Mondays for IRL reasons ;w;
> 
> [Fanart](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1358878391492104192?s=20) by Maha for this chapter! (Black Condor hoodie goro goooo!)


	11. AKIRA VI: Moments Between Sleep

When Akira traveled to Akechi’s apartment after getting that string of very suspicious texts, he’s not quite sure what he was expecting to find.

He knows he was worried. Worried enough apparently that Futaba hadn’t even questioned him when he called her out of nowhere for the sole purpose of procuring Detective Prince Goro Akechi’s home address. She’d only just had her palace destroyed a few days ago, and yet here Akira was already making use of her technological skillset. He definitely would have felt guilty if he showed up at Akechi’s door and it turned out to be nothing.

But instead, the door opens up to reveal Goro Akechi in nothing but a pair of loose-fitting shorts and a large Featherman t-shirt, looking and smelling a lot like he was trying to put himself in an early grave per alcohol poisoning.

Akira might not have known too much about how to take care of a heavily intoxicated person, but he did know the basics. And so, he gathers up as much calm as he can manage and does his best to take control of the situation, his brain working on autopilot in response to his stark and immediate concern.

First, he orders food, well aware that Akechi would need to eat something to help soak up the effects of the alcohol. Knowing Akechi, he probably hadn’t even eaten before he decided to personally murder his own liver with a bottle of alcohol he’d gotten from his _father_.

Yeah, Akira wasn’t about to forget that little fact that Akechi admitted to. He might have slightly more important things to worry about at the moment, but that was one thing he stored away in his little mental Goro Akechi file- specifically under the section he liked to refer to as: _He Definitely Has A Shit Father_. HDHASF for short.

Once the food comes, he settles down on the couch, nudging Akechi over a little so that he would move to occupy the other side. Only, instead, he somehow ends up lucky enough to have Akechi’s legs thrown across his lap.

And that’s exactly when his brain comes to a sudden screeching halt, and everything comes roaring back into focus.

His first thought is that it has to be a mistake, as in, Akechi must have honestly forgotten he was even there. And once he happened to realize that his legs were not on the sofa and instead placed on top of a human being, he would pull away as if he’d been burned and they’d act like nothing ever happened.

But seconds tick by as Akira sits there in a perfect representation of a statue, and still Akechi doesn’t move.

Slowly, carefully, Akira allows one of his hands to fall onto the curve of his calf, thinking that would probably be the safest area to rest his hand. He’s half expecting to get kicked, or for Akechi to finally pull away with a pointed glare. He’s well aware that Akechi is intoxicated and has only just woken up from a nap, so his mind _might_ not be at his sharpest. That being said, he _was_ apparently awake enough to talk coherently and eat the pizza Akira handed to him, so he couldn’t be _that_ out of it. But even though his calf twitches a bit under the weight of Akira’s hand, Akechi doesn’t move. Doesn’t even look at him, for that matter.

Akira forces himself to breathe, slowly relaxing into the couch as he focuses on the warmth of the skin beneath his palm. And while he knows it’s probably not the best time for his heart to melt considering the circumstances they’re in, he can’t help the sudden warmth he feels permeating his entire being. Especially not when his favorite feline companion jumps up onto Akechi’s stomach and curls up with the TV remote in his jaws.

It maybe wasn’t under the _exact_ circumstances he’d pictured for his first movie night with Akechi, but there’s a certain domesticity to it all that he can’t ignore. A quiet intimacy hovers in the air around them as the movie drones on in the background and Akechi shifts a little, his knee bending slightly as if he’s starting to get stiff. In a pure moment of unrestrained fear that he might decide to move his legs from his lap, Akira’s hand finds its way to Akechi’s knee, putting himself on knee massage duty. Pressing gently into the side of it with his thumb, he rubs soothing circles into his skin and smiles softly at Akechi who seems to be slowly melting into the sofa.

That warm fluttery feeling alights in his chest again at the realization of how much Akechi seems to be trusting him. Akechi always put up so many walls, and hid behind so many masks, that sometimes Akira wasn’t sure if he would ever let him in. And yet, inebriated or not, this is by far the most relaxed and unguarded Akira has ever seen Goro Akechi.

Deciding to test his luck a little, Akira tries to ask the question he’d been wondering since he’d first stepped foot through the door. That being: why was Akechi binge drinking what looked to be a very expensive bottle of alcohol when Akira had been under the assumption that he’d been _okay_ the last time he’d seen him. Unless this was a common thing for him... But Akira doesn’t want to believe that, not yet. There had to be another explanation.

“Was it Futaba’s Palace that upset you?” He asks him.

Moments pass in silence, Akira continuing to rub at his Akechi’s knee in a way that he hopes to be soothing. It’s only when he thinks that Akechi might not answer him at all, that his voice finally breaks through the quiet.

“It was fake,” Akechi tells him quietly.

Akira blinks at him, not quite sure what he means by that. He automatically finds himself looking at Mona, but he’s, of course, sound asleep on Akechi’s stomach. So instead, Akira just makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat, hoping for clarity.

“Her mother’s...cognition,” Akechi says, his words a little slower than usual. “Futaba wanted Wakaba to forgive her, so that’s what her cognition gave her.”

Akira can’t help but think of that final moment they had in the palace. Wakaba transformed from monster back into a human, standing there and telling Futaba that she loved her. It’d been a touching moment, and yet, Akechi had stood there with his head turned to the sea of sand and hadn’t spared them a single glance.

“The fantasy’s better than reality,” Goro says, tone faint even in the muted atmosphere of the room. “That’s all.”

Akira gently squeezes his knee, hoping that the action comes off as comforting and not weird. “Are we talking about Futaba’s mother still?”

He remembers how the sun had been hot against his skin, and how exhausted he’d been from the fight they’d only just managed to win with Futaba’s help. He’d never felt more present, more alive, than in that moment after a near brush with death. And meanwhile, Goro had seemed to be somewhere far far away, past the line on the horizon that he was staring out into.

“...Yes,” Akechi says eventually, and Akira knows it’s a lie.

***

That night, Akira doesn’t sleep.

At some point after Akechi falls asleep on the sofa, his legs still on his lap, Akira finds that he needs to use the bathroom and gently slides out from under Akechi’s comfortable weight, almost falling over in the process when his numb legs hit the floor. Luckily, his grand escape doesn’t wake either Akechi or Morgana, and so he quickly hurries to the bathroom before rushing right back.

When he returns he finds himself hovering in the living room somewhat uselessly. The time on his phone tells him it’s one in the morning, and he feels the first signs of exhaustion pulling at him. But the sofa’s currently occupied, and he’s not exactly planning on taking Akechi’s bed...that would be way too weird. Besides, he doesn’t want to leave Akechi alone like this. He’d had a _lot_ of alcohol, and although he’s resting peacefully now, there’s no telling what could happen to him in the middle of the night.

In front of him, Akechi mutters something in his sleep and buries his face into the arm of the sofa.

Yeah, there’s no way Akira is leaving him.

Resigning himself to his night of no sleep, Akira goes to get the whiskey bottle he’d stashed in the back of one of Akechi’s cabinets when he hadn’t been looking. Picking up the bottle he immediately notices how much was missing from it and Akira inspects the alcohol content on the label before taking out his phone to look up how many units were a... _problem_.

As he soon learns, the effects of high alcohol consumption weren’t great, to say the least, not when the level is around ten to twelve units. Which, judging by how much was missing from the bottle, Akechi had definitely hit that mark.

Impaired coordination- _check_. Staggering around- _check_. He continues to read down the list, before switching to a different site to find out what he needed to do to actually _help_. Food was definitely recommended, which he had covered. As well as plenty of fluids, which he’d need to make sure Akechi got down once he woke up in the morning. He’d also need to watch out for vomiting, and he needed to make sure that he didn’t throw up in his sleep while he was lying on his back because he could choke on it and _die_ -

Quickly, Akira hurries back into the living room, relieved to see that Akechi had at some point twisted so that he was laying down on his side. His switch in position must have dislodged Mona who was now nowhere to be seen. Allowing himself to take a breath, Akira looks at the bottle still held in his hand and frowns at it.

“This is all your fault,” he mutters to the very much inanimate object.

Making sure that the top of the bottle is securely on, he moves to deposit the stupid thing in the Mona-bag. Morgana was just going to have to deal with a bottle of whiskey for company once they left because there was no way in hell he was leaving it here, and there was also no way that he was leaving Akechi unattended for any length of time.

Returning back to him, Akira plops down on the floor in front of the sofa and watches Akechi sleep for a while. It’s not a creepy thing to do because he’s doing this to make sure that Akechi doesn’t turn over and end up choking and dying in his sleep. Or so he tells himself, even if he does feel a little bit like he’s watching something he’s not supposed to, Akechi occasionally mumbling in his sleep as he brings his legs a little closer to him, curling himself into a partial ball.

Despite the situation, Akira smiles softly to himself.

“I really hope you haven’t been making a habit of doing this, hedgehog,” Akira says very quietly.

Akechi, of course, doesn’t answer.

“You’re really just going to sit there and watch him all night?” Is his answer instead, coming from the form of his very judgmental cat who had at some point padded up to him.

“I’m just worried,” Akira tells him, making sure to keep his voice as low as possible so he doesn’t wake Akechi.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Morgana says, that familiar expression of concern back on his face again. He seems to be about to say something else, but then he looks towards Akechi and seems to think better of it. “Where’d you go anyway?” he asks instead. “I went looking for you.”

“I was in the kitchen,” Akira tells him with a shrug. “Where’d you check?”

“Bedroom.” Morgana gives him a very judgmental stare. “Didn’t know you wanted to stare at him all night, thought you might have taken his bed.”

“That’d be weird,” he says, choosing to ignore the irony that his current choice of pastime might be considered _more_ weird than sleeping in his crush’s bed. Luckily Morgana seems to miss that part, and instead tilts his head at him curiously.

“Why?” He asks. “It’s just a bed.”

“It’s complicated.” Akira responds, not wanting to explain the importance of bed-sharing in human relationships to his magical talking feline companion.

“Okay…” Morgana says looking skeptical, but luckily doesn’t seem prepared to push. “Well, I’m going back to sleep.”

And Akira watches him from his spot on the floor as Morgana jumps back onto the sofa and settles into the space near Akechi’s neck, curling into a ball and seeming to instantly fall asleep. All the while, Akechi remains fast asleep, not moving in the slightest.

Seeing that Akechi seems relaxed and not at all in danger of dying, at least for now, Akira takes out his phone and scrolls through different sites on the internet. He looks up the effects of alcohol and what he can do to combat them before he ultimately decides that it’s only causing him to worry more. Besides, everything that they say to do, he already knows. So, from there he switches to researching fish facts and amuses himself by thinking of Akechi doing the very same thing not too long ago.

The boy in question mumbles something else intelligible in his sleep, and Akira looks up to see his face contorted into a small frown as he curls into a tighter ball on the couch.

In a temporary moment of insanity, Akira finds himself reaching forward and brushing back a couple stray hairs that have fallen over his face. Akechi doesn’t even so much as stir, but when Akira settles back on the floor his heart is pounding loud enough that he swears anyone in the room would be able to hear it.

And it’s then that, even with the ever-present worry sitting heavy and his gut and with the knowledge that it was going to be a long sleepless night, a smile once again pulls at his lips and he finds that he doesn’t mind it.

***

The next morning Akira is tired.

Over the course of the night, the only time he’d vacated his silent vigil was when close to an hour had passed and the only movement from Akechi had been to curl tighter into a ball. Akira finally took this to mean that he might have been cold, and went to Akechi’s bedroom to get his duvet and gently draped it over him. Akechi had immediately snuggled under the blanket and Akira’s heart melted at the sight.

It’s only when the morning light comes through the window that Akira finally decides that it’s safe for him to move. Before he does, he takes one last long look at Akechi, noting how the morning sunlight brightens his face and makes him seem younger than he is. Or maybe just a bit more innocent, more honest. The thought strikes him that Goro Akechi was some kind of beautiful, and looking at him like this makes the stupidly fond little organ in his chest ache.

Standing from the floor, he lightly brushes a few more hairs away from Akechi’s face, and smiles fondly when he makes a small noise in response and turns his face farther into the armrest. Akira turns his gaze to the sunlight pouring through the window, and walks over to quickly shut the blinds so it would be as dark as possible when Akechi inevitably woke up hungover. He then moves over to the kitchen and grabs a glass from the cabinet which he proceeds to fill with water. Walking back into the living room, Akira deposits the glass on the coffee table, close enough for Akechi to reach without having to get up. Afterwards he quietly busies himself with putting away the leftover pizza in the fridge and cleaning up the best that he can.

One thing that Akira can’t help but notice as he moves around the house is how utterly barren Akechi’s apartment is. The emptiness goes beyond just the contents of his cabinets or fridge, and instead seems to be the common theme of everything in Akechi’s place. He supposes it does make a bit of sense. Akechi clearly lived alone and was busy so much of the time that he probably didn’t use his apartment for much of anything besides sleeping. The place itself seems like it’d be expensive, but on that end Akira can see his high school career as the Detective Prince possibly paying him a good deal of money. He’s not certain on that front, but the alternative of that would mean that someone else was paying for this place behind the scenes, and that thought is....unsettling, to say the least.

He tries not to dwell too much on it, but he doesn’t quite completely negate the thought.

Once he’s done and the apartment is once again almost eerily spotless, Akira looks to make sure that Akechi is still very much sound asleep before making his way to the bathroom. While he’s in there he splashes a bit of water on his face and laments his lack of a toothbrush. He hadn’t exactly been planning on staying the night, even if that was a relative way to put it since he hadn’t actually slept at all.

Finding himself a little curious, Akira opens up the medicine cabinet overhead and briefly inspects the contents. The first thing he notices is the almost excessive amount of first aid supplies. For as barren as Akechi’s cabinets and fridge were, he certainly didn’t seem to skip out on the bandages. It’s not exactly a crime to be prepared, but it does bring up a few more questions since they’ve always had enough energy to heal everyone before leaving the Metaverse. His gaze also lands on the multiple bottles of painkillers lined up in a row and, in a brief moment of panic, Akira’s very tempted to flush every single one of them down the toilet. It’s not as if he’s a medical professional, but he’s well aware that pain killers and large quantities of alcohol were a fatal combination. He thinks better of it however, trusting Akechi enough to not do anything that stupid.

While the sight of everything sparks a _little_ concern, Akira can’t exactly deny having his own small horde of medical supplies and mysterious medicine from Takemi. At least Akechi’s bottles were legitimate, unlike Akira’s private stash which was built entirely on pure faith that Takemi wasn’t trying to kill him.

Closing the medicine cabinet, Akira peers at his reflection, noting the faint dark circles starting to appear under his eyes. They weren’t obviously noticeable, but if he didn’t make up for his lack of sleep tonight, people would definitely start to notice. Among the medical supplies, Akira had also found a few smaller bottles of what looked like makeup, and he can’t help but wonder if Akechi used them to fix that very problem.

Suddenly feeling a bit guilty for snooping, Akira walks back out into the living room. His gaze immediately navigates to Akechi, still laying in the same position before, only this time, as Akira rounds the corner, he sees the slight stiffening of his shoulders peeking out from the duvet.

“Are you awake?” he whispers as he draws closer.

Almost immediately Akechi seems to relax again, melting back into the sofa.

“Regrettably,” he mutters, his voice rough from having just woken up. It probably shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “The cat’s asleep still.”

“M’not...cat…” Morgana mumbles, still very obviously fast asleep.

“Okay, you can go back to sleep,” Akira whispers, glad that Akechi’s eyes are still closed so he can’t see the ridiculously fond smile on his face. “I’ll get us breakfast.”

Akira watches, his heart soft and fluttery, as Akechi snuggles a little deeper into the duvet and mumbles, “‘kay.”

That intensely warm feeling comes back again. It’s similar to the way he felt when he had that moment of realization at the Fireworks Festival, which now felt like a small lifetime ago, Only this time it’s stronger, all-consuming, and _frightening_ in its intensity. Akira swallows down the sudden lump in his throat.

“I won’t be long,” Akira says softly before he turns and makes a beeline for the door, needing to get a bit of air and clear his head a little.

Still, even when he returns to the apartment after his walk, McDonald’s takeout bag in hand, he’s greeted by the sight of Akechi sitting up and looking incredibly small while wrapped up in the confines of his duvet, and he realizes that the feeling doesn’t really fade.

***

When they later step off the train at Yongen-Jaya Station, the air is sticky and humid. And somehow the outfit that Akechi decided to wear seems even less suited for the heat than his favorite sweater-vest combo. With the way he’s walking with the hood of his dark hoodie pulled up over his head despite the heat, Akira can’t help but notice the few suspicious stares that Akechi earns. Akira can understand why, considering he looks like he’s about to rob a convenience store, but it doesn’t stop Akira from glaring back at anyone who happens to look at him funny, as he’d been doing since they’d first left his apartment.

Akira wasn’t normally a very confrontational person, but something about the display of trust Akechi gave him by letting the Detective Prince mask side away for a day, combined with the fact that Akechi was clearly still very hungover and not at all at his best, made Akira want to wrap Akechi up in a dark blanket and hide him away so that no other people got to see him like this. It’s a strange thought and feeling, and Akira’s a little disturbed at the sudden dark turn to his normally charming disposition, but he’s also going off of absolutely no sleep so he gives himself a pass.

Still, between sending dirty looks to any passerby’s that look in their direction, Akira also keeps a careful eye on Akechi as they walk from the station to Leblanc The effects of the alcohol are still clearly messing with his system, and Akira watches as he stumbles a bit, automatically reaching a hand out to grab him if necessary. Akechi catches himself though, without so much as looking in Akira’s direction.

“You okay?” Akira asks.

“Fine,” Akechi mutters back, still not looking at him.

Akira sincerely doubts the legitimacy of that statement, but he doesn’t say anything as they cross the final bit of distance and reach Leblanc. When they walk in, the cafe is completely empty besides Sojiro who does a double-take as he looks at Akechi.

“Avoiding the fans, huh?” Sojiro asks.

“Something like that,” Akechi says, sounding too exhausted to put up his normal facade.

“Hm, well no one will bother you here,” Sojiro tells him, sending a look at Akira before returning to his crossword puzzle as if it was nothing.

Akechi immediately heads for his normal seat at the bar, but he wobbles a bit when he takes a step forward and all Akira can imagine is Akechi falling off the barstool and cracking his head open on the floor.

Refusing to let that happen, Akira grabs him by the top of his arms and guides him over in the direction of one of the booth seats. Any other time Akira’s pretty sure Akechi would have bitten his hand off for trying to force him to go anywhere. And yet, in a testament to how completely out of it he is, Akechi allows himself to be led to one of the booth seats where he then wedges himself in with only a few annoyed sounds of complaint. Almost as soon as he’s situated, Akechi’s head drops to rest against the wall, and Akira watches as his eyes slip shut.

Seeing that he was once again asleep, Akira finally turns to look at Sojiro who lowers his crossword puzzle to give him a long hard look.

“You want to tell me why that kid smells like he just got out of a brewery?”

Akira doesn’t really know why he ever thought they could come in undetected.

“He’s under a lot of stress. This was just a one-time thing, it won’t happen again,” even as the words come out of his mouth, he’s not entirely sure why he’s covering for Akechi. If anything, maybe Sojiro would be the best person to trust with the truth, so Akira could preemptively get advice on what to do if this _wasn’t_ just a one-time thing and was instead a recurring problem. And yet, with Akechi sound asleep behind him, his hoodie on in place of his Detective Prince facade, Akira finds that betraying his trust seems a lot like the _worst_ thing he could possibly do.

In response to his textbook explanation, Sojiro gives him a look like he doesn’t quite believe him, but then drops his gaze back down to his crossword puzzle.

“He’s eighteen right? So, that isn’t any of my business,” he says, and Akira feels relief wash over him. Goro might not have been of legal drinking age, but Sojiro obviously considered him to be an adult capable of making his own decisions. That or he was in an exceptionally lenient mood today. With a small nod of thanks to his guardian, who doesn’t react in the slightest, Akira turns towards his room to freshen up a little bit, only to find himself reluctant to go. Hesitating, Akira looks back at Akechi slumped over on the booth seat, still fast asleep, and hates the thought of leaving him like this.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Sojiro tells him, still not looking away from his crossword. “You go do whatever you need to.”

Warmed by Sojiro’s sudden kindness, Akira feels much better, knowing he was more than capable of looking after Akechi in his absence. And just in case…

Depositing the Mona-bag on the seat next to Akechi, Akira looks at Morgana and says, “Stay with him.”

“What!?” Morgana yowls instantly, and Akira immediately shushes him before he wakes Akechi. “Boss said he had it handled, why do I need to stay?”

“Just do this for me?” Akira says quietly, to which Morgana almost instantly seems to calm a little.

“Alright fine,” he says. “But you owe me for this.”

Akira actually has no idea why Morgana is so irked at the concept of simply staying down on the cafe floor, which he does all the time anyway. But he imagines it’s probably the principle of it since Morgana was never a fan of being told what to do. He had too much pride in his little self for that.

So, instead of putting up any argument, Akira just says, “I know I do,” and scratches him behind the ear. In typical Morgana fashion, he leans into it before he remembers that he’s not actually a cat, where he then swats at Akira’s hand with a very offended noise. Akira smiles at him before glancing at Akechi one last time, finding him very much still asleep. He hesitates again, clearly due to some sort of malfunction of his brain from lack of sleep, before finally turning on his heel and heading for the stairs.

Once he’s in his room, he makes sure to send a quick text reminder to the others that they were supposed to be meeting today. Then he quickly changes his clothes before heading back downstairs to brush his teeth. When he’s finished, he returns to the table to see that Akechi is still sleeping, and Morgana has maybe taken his job a bit too seriously and is sitting in front of him on the booth seat like some sort of ancient-guardian-cat statue. Akira considers it lucky that there’s no customers and also that Sojiro might be more fond of Morgana than he is Akira himself, because otherwise his cat would have very likely been thrown out for sitting so blatantly out in the open like he was.

Akira slides into the booth seat across from Akechi, being careful not to jostle the table. The others should be walking in any minute, and Sojiro’s still concentrating on his crossword, and so while he waits, Akira finds his gaze sliding back to Akechi. He knows it’s probably a weird thing to be doing, but much like last night, there’s just something about seeing Akechi like this that relaxes him. _Akechi_ seems relaxed. Expression peaceful despite how uncomfortable the wall must be for him to be using as a headrest. Akira briefly considers running upstairs to grab the pillow off his bed to slide between Akechi and the wall, but then quickly thinks better of it. Not only would he probably wake him up in the process, but he’s also not too sure if his gesture would be...appreciated.

Either way, Akira is really happy to see that he’s managing to get some sleep. Even though he’d slept for a long time over the course of the night, if this morning was anything to go by, he really needed more of it. Probably has for a while.

Of course, like clockwork, the moment the thought crosses his mind, the door to the cafe loudly swings open.

“Hey Akira-” Ruyji calls across the room upon entering, and Akira immediately turns around and hushes him.

“Lower your voice,” he says with a hard look.

To his credit, Ryuji immediately freezes and takes in the scene, as does Ann who follows him in and gently shuts the door behind them.

“Huh, oh sorry man,” Ryuji says, his gaze traveling from Akechi’s slumped over form and back over to Akira. “He okay?” He asks, sounding genuinely concerned. Then he pauses, nose curling up a bit. “And why does it smell like whiskey in here?”

“He’s fine,” Akira says quickly as he watches Ann make a similar expression. “Just a little sick.”

“Okay...so then why does it smell like alcohol?” Ann asks slowly, because apparently his friends were determined not to make this easy for him. He hated lying to them, but at the same time, he didn’t want to break Akechi’s trust. Not so soon after he’d finally seemed to chip away a bit at his walls.

Akira gives them a noncommittal shrug. “Probably sat in something on the train ride here,” he lies. “I don’t know.”

Ryuji and Ann exchange a glance. For a moment Akira’s afraid they’re going to call him out on his bullshit, but neither of them do. Instead, Ryuji looks at Akechi again with a frown.

“You sure he’s good to be here?”

Akira nods in response, following his gaze to Akechi who thankfully hadn’t been woken up.

“Just let him sleep,” Akira says quietly.

The others don’t say anything to that.

Instead, Sojiro is the one to break the silence. Setting down his crossword on the counter he says, “Alright, I’m going to head on out.” With a look towards Akira he adds, “Watch the store, would you?”

Akira nods in agreement, and as Sojiro makes his way out of the cafe, Ryuji and Ann finally come over to sit at the booth. Ryuji settles in next to Akechi, making sure to not jostle the seat while under the full weight of Akira’s stare. And Ann takes the spot next to Akira, Morgana taking a moment to finally jump up from the seat and onto the table. Akira sends a silent prayer to any god up above that Sojiro isn’t about to walk back through that door for any reason, because he really didn’t want him to know that he absolutely let his magical talking cat do whatever he wanted while he was away. Akira adored Morgana, but he also wasn’t really in the mood to be homeless on the streets with him.

“So...did he just walk in like this and fall asleep?” Ann asks, looking at Akechi with concern.

“No,” Akira tells her. “I brought him here.”

“But you live here,” Ryuji says like a true genius.

“Morgana and I stayed over at his apartment last night.”

It comes out without thinking, and yet while it might not exactly be the brightest thing to say in this situation, it does give Akira a certain degree of satisfaction to be able to say that he’d seen the inside of Akechi’s apartment before anyone else has. Namely Ann. This he knows, because he’d asked the group about Akechi’s address before he’d given up and contacted Futaba, and of course they hadn’t known.

Ann’s eyes go wide, and Akira feels another tinge of satisfaction from that. “Oh wow, really?”

“Yeah, I was just worried,” he says before realizing how stupid he sounds and quickly attempts to correct himself. “I mean we were worried. Me and Morgana.”

He has the sudden urge to eat his own tongue, maybe that’d finally stop him from saying things without a brain to mouth filter. He couldn’t possibly be any more obvious. Even Ryuji is giving him an odd look, which is not at all what he needs right now. At least Akechi was still asleep so he didn’t have to witness this.

“Morgana...right,” Ann says slowly, clearly not believing him at all.

“Hey don’t bring me into this,” Morgana, the Great Betrayer chimes in.

“He was sick and he needed help, so I stayed,” Akira tells them with a shrug, in his best attempt to say that it wasn’t a big deal. It was of course a big deal, as in it might have single-handedly been one of the best nights of his life. Which...probably says something about him considering that he spent the entire night watching over a drunk person and he hadn’t slept at all. Still, there’d been an air of domesticity and trust in the feeling of Akechi’s legs across his lap, and the feel of his skin against his palm, and neither of those things would he be forgetting any time soon.

“That’s really sweet, Akira,” Ann says, her expression going soft. Akira suddenly feels a bit embarrassed under the weight of it, his hand reaching up to tug uncomfortably at his fringe.

“It was nothing,” he says. “I’m just glad he didn’t kick me out.”

Ann gives him a look like he’s the world’s largest moron, which Akira finds a little insulting. But before she can say anything, the door to the cafe opens again and Yusuke walks in.

“Afternoon-”

“Not so loud,” Akira says almost immediately, the response almost reflexive at this point.

“Yeah, watch it man,” Ryuji says with a grin. “Akira will bite your head off if you manage to wake his boyfriend.”

Yusuke’s eyes widen. “Ah so, you’ve made it official then?”

Akira kind of feels like dying a little. All of his friends were assholes and they only wanted to see him suffer.

“What, no,” he says quickly, careful to keep his voice down. “I don’t even know what you guys are talking about. Can we please just do what we came here to do?”

Yusuke gives him a scrutinizing look.

“Very well,” he says after a moment, and Akira allows himself to breathe again. Moving away from the entrance, Yusuke walks over to them and settles into the booth beside Ann.

“Should we start without him…?” Ann asks slowly, casting another look at Akechi.

“I say we wait,” Morgana says to Akira’s surprise. It’s not that Morgana _disliked_ Akechi, at least Akira hoped, but he also knew that he didn’t necessarily _trust_ him. It was a mindset that Akira knew Mona wished he would follow, with their suspicions still prominent regarding Akechi’s possible status as the Black Mask. Still, those were only questions amounting into theories, there was nothing concrete, and so Akira much preferred to keep that suspicion filed away. At least for the moment.

“Oh yeah, let’s check the Phansite,” Ryuji says. “I bet all sorts of people are talking about us now.”

Akira pulls out his phone, along with the others, and he navigates over to the site. Skimming through all the most recent comments, he takes notice of the expected few anons voicing support for the Phantom Thieves, and yet his stomach drops when he realizes that they’re far outnumbered by those who are voicing outright hatred toward another party who just so happened to be a _part_ of the Phantom Thieves themselves.

 **Anon:** _Akechi was probably just jealous of the Phantom Thieves._

 **Anon:** _That hot-shot detective never knows what he’s talking about._

 **Anon:** _Akechi? Who cares about him anymore?_

 **Anon:** _I never really liked Akechi at all. I always knew he was a fraud._

And they _go on._

The anger burns low in his stomach, an ember growing into a more intensive flame. Akira was never one to get angry, was never one to let rage take hold, and yet the more he reads the more furious he finds himself becoming.

“The hell is this bullshit?” Ryuji whisper-shouts in a reflection of Akira’s own thoughts. “What’s with all these assholes talkin’ shit on our Phansite?”

“This is awful,” Ann groans. “I didn’t expect this after taking down Medjed.”

Akira finds himself looking over at Akechi. Akechi who had been having such an obviously hard time recently and now Akira really wasn’t sure how he was going to handle all this sudden backlash. He watches as Akechi’s eyes open blearily as he slowly takes in the scene around him. He still looks so _tired_.

“Oh, hey,” Akira says gently. “You feeling better?”

Akechi mumbles something that sounds vaguely like “I’m awake,” but Akira’s not really sure if he believes him on that front. A bit of the anger ebbs away at the sight of him, although the feeling is fleeting as Akira remembers that Akechi didn’t _know_ yet. They’d have to tell him about this, and meanwhile Akira knows that only last night his emotions led him to the bottle.

As if he wasn’t already worried enough-

“Is he still asleep?” Ryuji asks, sounding amused.

“Ugh,” Akechi sits up and elbows Ryuji in the ribs. “What-when did everyone get here?”

Akira just really couldn’t stand all these damn anonymous commenters who knew absolutely _nothing_ about Goro Akechi decided that they had nothing else better to do than drag his name through the mud.

Akira _hated_ them.

“Only five minutes ago,” Ann answers him quickly.

“Oh, I’m- sorry, You should have woken me up....” Akechi says, none the wiser to the flock of useless gossips probably spreading lies about him at this very moment.

Akira’s hands tighten on his phone as he finally looks back down at his screen, alternating between casting glances at Akechi and reading the unending slew of comments.

“Akira told us you were ill,” Ryuji says, thankfully seeming to stick to the story instead of whatever suspicions he and Ann might have had to contest it. “Man, you should’ve just stayed in bed instead of forcing yourself to come here. We wouldn’t’ve been mad.”

 **Anon:** _The only thing that detective is good for is sitting there and looking pretty. His looks are the only reason he got as far as he did._

“I was well enough to attend,” Akechi responds, voice still tinged with sleep. “So, I thought I’d make the effort.”

 **Anon:** _Thank god the Phantom Thieves showed us how useless Akechi is. I can’t believe I ever thought he was actually smart._

And that was the real kicker, wasn’t it? The fact that these idiots wanted to glorify the Phantom Thieves, and use their name to put Akechi down. Akira never wanted this. Akira had watched Akechi have a breakdown in the middle of a palace because he was reminded of his dead mother, and yet _still_ push through it with an unmatched ferocity. Never giving in, never giving up even after Akira asked him if he’d rather sit the rest out. And yet _this_ is how he was repaid for it.

The others’ conversation fades into background noise as Akira reads through dumbass comment after dumbass comment. Cold fury takes its hold and leaves him more and more tense with every message he flips through.

Yet it ends up being Akechi’s voice, of all things, that cuts through the haze of anger.

“There’s no need to be upset,” Akechi says slowly, meeting his gaze unflinchingly as Akira finally looks up from his phone. “It’ll stop once they grow bored of it.”

 _But you should be upset_ , Akira thinks as he continues to stare at Akechi. No one should ever be talked about like this, least of all him.

“Dude, you should be upset!” Ryuji says, once again echoing his thoughts. “They’re sayin’ such shitty things about you. I bet they’d change their tune fast if they knew you were a Phantom Thief!”

With a sigh, Akechi pulls down his hood and face mask, finally revealing the full exhaustion lining his expression and the frown pulling at his lips.

“Sakamoto, I would be _arrested_ if they knew I was a Phantom Thief,” Akechi tells him.

“Oh...right.”

“Besides, such things are expected in the life of a celebrity,” Akechi continues. He smiles then, his plastic TV smile that only ever served as a mask to hide what he was really feeling. As with every other time, Akira isn’t buying it. “It’ll pass, as all storms do.”

“If you’re sure…” Ann says doubtfully, clearly not buying Akechi’s act either. And Ann hadn’t even seen how Akechi was last night. That was not the behavior of someone who was mentally okay enough to have to deal with all of this.

“I’m sure,” Akechi responds, his eyes vehemently boring into Akira’s own. “In any case, dwelling on it won’t solve anything, so perhaps we should discuss what we met here for, hm?”

Akira meets Akechi’s glare with all that he has, refusing to back down. If only he could break through his walls and see through him until he understood every single little complicated fabric of his being. Everything would be so much easier if Akechi would stop being difficult and trust them all fully for once in his life. And yet, all Akira can do is lock onto the full intensity of his glare, unrelenting despite his hangover and obvious exhaustion, and rival the open challenge he finds there.

If this was the way Akechi wanted to play, then Akira would just need to meet him dead-on.

There was no way he’d lose.

***

A few hours later, it’s late in the afternoon.

The rest of the team left for the day, all besides Akechi, their meeting having concluded shortly after Futaba made her grand appearance. Now even she was gone, Sojiro having left the store in Akira’s care as he walked her back home.

Meanwhile, Akechi had chosen to stay to finish the rest of his coffee, still looking exhausted and very out of it. It’s only now that Akira watches as he finally slides out of his booth seat.

“I think it’s about time I left,” Akechi says as Akira mirrors him and stands from his side of the booth as well. “Tell Sakura-San thank you for the coffee,” he finishes, looking smug, which is reasonable since they’re both very well aware that Akira had been the one to make all three of his cups. Even after everything, he was still an ass.

Still, as Akechi turns to head for the door, panic grips at Akira’s chest and he finds himself stopping him.

“Wait,” Akira says, grabbing his wrist. “Let me walk you home.”

Akechi’s gaze slowly navigates from the hand on his wrist and up to meet Akira’s eyes. He seems confused, but he doesn’t immediately shake Akira off and walk out anyway, so he takes that to be a good sign. A little reluctantly, Akira drops his wrist before he accidentally makes things weird.

“You’re going to walk me home and then walk all the way back by yourself?” Akechi asks flatly.

“Yeah sure,” Akira shrugs, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Just wait for Boss to come back so he can watch the store.”

“You’re…” Akechi trails off and this time Akira doesn’t try to suggest anything. Everything that Akira is he’s laid right on the surface of every gesture and action. He’s really not the puzzle that Akechi seems to think of him as, and a part of him is constantly waiting for him to realize that. “I’m perfectly capable of getting myself home on my own,” Akechi finishes eventually, to which Akira gives him a somber yet patient little smile.

“Okay.”

“ _Okay?_ ” Akechi repeats, eyes narrowing dubiously.

“You’re right,” Akira says with another small shrug, starting to understand how the game was to be played. “You’re more than capable.” He lets that phrase hover in the air between them for a moment. He’s not exactly fond of the idea of Akechi going home alone like this, but if there was one thing he understood it was that Goro Akechi was difficult and strong willed, and doing anything to suggest otherwise was only going to push him away. “So,” he concludes, backing up a step, “I’ll see you later then.”

Akechi follows his movement with his gaze still narrowed in clear confoundment. Once again, as if he couldn’t figure Akira out, even though he was only using what Akechi himself had shown him. Little pieces and fragments slowly adding up to a bigger picture. It wasn’t a losing battle anymore, Akechi had displayed a large degree of trust over the past twenty-four hours, and now Akira could be patient.

“Very well....” Akechi says slowly after a moment, still looking at him oddly. “Goodbye Kurusu,” he adds, before finally turning away and heading for the door.

“If you need anything, call me,” Akira calls after him before he steps out into the late afternoon sunlight, and Akechi gives him one last odd look from over his shoulder along with a small incline of his head, before he steps out and the door closes behind him.

From his spot on the table, Morgana gives him an exasperated look, but Akira ignores him as he goes to stand behind the counter. He leans on the countertop, and Morgana jumps up onto one of the barstools, Akira’s eyes growing heavy as he watches the empty store and waits for Sojiro to return.

Right when he’s seriously debating having another cup of coffee just to stay awake, Sojiro comes walking through the front door. Akira lifts his gaze from where he’d been starting to see shapes in the wood of the countertop, but before he can so much as greet him, he’s stopped by the hard look Sojiro is pinning him with.

 _Uh oh_ , he thinks to himself, instantly straightening from his slouched position.

“How did you meet Futaba?” Sojiro asks him, his tone leaving no room for nonsense. Akira finds himself fidgeting with the dishtowel held in his hands. He didn’t want to _lie_ to his ever-so-gracious guardian, but it wasn’t exactly as if he could just come out and tell him the truth. Sojiro would send him back home to his parents, if he didn’t decide to call a mental ward first.

“She didn’t tell you...?” Akira prods gently, trying to see how much he knew already, or _if_ he was aware of anything at all.

“She says you helped her with something,” he says, his gaze turning more scrutinizing as if he’s well aware of what Akira’s doing. “I can’t get the details out of her.”

Akira nods slowly. “We met online...” he says, drawing the words out as he thinks up a reasonable explanation on the spot. “She messaged us first. We’ve been talking for a while as a group.”

“Guess that does explain why she didn’t seem that nervous around all of you,” Sojiro responds to his immediate relief, and Akira allows himself to breathe again. “Well, I’m not going to question a good thing. I’ve been hoping something like this would happen for a long time.” He offers Akira a smile then, one that although small, gives off a certain amount of warmth. Akira finds himself a little caught off guard by it, his own parents certainly never looked at him like that, especially not after they’d only just seemed upset with him. “Now, why don’t you go to bed early? You look dead on your feet.”

Akira quickly nods, too exhausted to think about how strange it seems.

“Yeah I will, thanks.”

Finally free of his responsibilities for the day, Akira trudges back upstairs and collapses on his bed. Even with it being as stiff as usual, Akira suddenly finds it to be one of the most comfortable surfaces he’s ever laid on. Not even able to muster the energy to get changed, Akira finds his eyes slipping shut and it’s not long before he dozes off.

When he next opens his eyes, his room is dark and his phone tells him that he’s managed to sleep through several hours of the day in what felt like only seconds. Still exhausted, Akira is prepared to fall back asleep, when with painstaking-clarity he suddenly remembers the whiskey bottle. Jolting upright, he rushes over to the Mona-bag where sure enough the very expensive whisky bottle is still sitting in plain sight like a true villain in a horror movie.

Head still hazy from pure exhaustion, Akira turns with the bottle in hand and tries to think of where to hide it. His first thought is the ceiling, but then all Sojiro would really need to do was look up in the right direction to spot it, which wouldn’t be ideal. He could of course try to find some broken spot behind one of the beams or any place that had the ability to hide a bottle, but that would probably take too long and he’d really like to get to bed…

His gaze shifts to his bed which is held up by milk crates, and his brain hatches an idea. Moving over to his bed he drops on the ground and starts trying to maneuver the crates around so that there’d be room for the bottle to sit under the one in the far back. He’s in the middle of tipping the far crate, ignoring the concerned calls from Morgana, as his arm screams with the pressure of having to practically lift his entire bed with only one arm.

“What are you doing!?” Morgana yowls at him.

“Hiding the evidence,” he responds like a very well-functioning individual. He accidentally bangs his elbow on one of the crates as he attempts to reach the back corner of his bed while wriggling around on the floor like some sort of drowning worm.

“Why don’t you just throw it out!?” Morgana asks, as if he’s some sort of genius. Akira freezes mid wriggle, and looks over at him.

“Oh yeah,” he says. “I didn’t think about that.”

Morgana gives him a look as if he’s seriously concerned about his sanity, which might actually be a fair point. But in Akira’s defense, he was still half-asleep.

Dislodging his arm from between the crates, Akira gets to his feet. Wordlessly, he walks back over to the Mona-bag and places the bottle inside it before hefting it over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you just going to throw it in the trash?” Morgana asks him, circling around his feet.

“Not _here_ ,” Akira whispers conspiratorially. “What if Sojiro sees. I need to find a dumpster somewhere.”

Or really anywhere he could find to place the bottle where he’d never have to see or hear about it again. The bottom of the ocean would also work. Or possibly in the center of an active volcano. Unfortunately, neither of those options were readily available to him, so either a dumpster or a neighbor’s trash-can would have to do.

“Joker, it’s the middle of the night,” Morgana says, voicing way too much complaint for the capacity in which Akira’s brain was currently functioning. “Can’t this wait until morning?”

“I could be dead by morning,” he tells him intelligently. “Then Boss is going to find me dead with a bottle of whisky under my pillow.”

“Why would it be under your pillow?”

“Because I’d put it there.”

Morgana gives him a long-suffering look.

“Joker, sometimes you really worry me.”

Akira chooses to ignore that comment as he half walks, half stumbles, down the stairs into the cafe. It’s dark, Sojiro clearly having locked up already, which makes his journey a bit easier since he doesn’t have to explain himself to anyone besides his favorite talking cat.

Said talking cat stays right on his heels as Akira makes his way out the front door of Leblanc. Morgana doesn’t exactly look happy about it, but Akira thinks it’s nice that he’s coming out here with him anyway.

It doesn’t take him long to locate a trashcan a little ways down the street. He tosses the bottle in there unceremoniously, feeling somewhat better that the stupid thing is finally gone. And with his arch-nemesis finally vanquished, he makes his way back home.

As soon as he gets back to Leblanc, he gets changed and then goes straight to bed. Tossing a blanket over himself, he falls back asleep before his head even hits the pillow.

***

That night, he dreams.

He’s swimming through the ocean, diving and searching for _something_. As for what that is, Akira’s not quite sure, he just knows whatever it is, it’s _important_. He knows it as much as he knows anything. It’s written in the lines of his skin, and consumes his every thought and motion as he swims up to see the clear blue sky and the limitless expanse of sea, only to dive back down and brush his hands across the sand.

In the distance he sees his friends swimming in perfect synchronization with each other. Ann, Ryuji, and Yusuke make perfect loops through the water, laughing and happy without a single care in the world. A part of Akira wants to join them, but his gaze travels back to the sand below him and he knows he needs to find what he’s looking for first. And whatever it is, it’s something he has to find alone.

So, he dives down and continues his search, and slowly their voices grow more distant, until all that’s left is but a distant echo and Akira can no longer see them through the great expanse of the sea. He doesn’t mind though, at least not once he catches a sight of the very thing he _knows_ he’s been looking for all along, the only thing that really matters.

Swimming towards the perfectly round rock sitting softly in the sand, Akira lifts it into his hands and knows that it’s the most perfect rock he’s ever laid eyes on. It’s smooth, beautiful, and the light travels through the water to reflect off of its surface as if it was diamond instead of stone.

With his prize clutched safely within his hands, Akira swims up and breaks through the surface of the water, finding himself suddenly in the middle of the aquarium.

The floor is solid beneath him, the water drained from his clothes, the only memory of the sea existing in the perfect stone held securely between his palms. His hold tightens on it in fear that he might lose it, before his gaze lifts to find the only person in the entire aquarium standing only a few feet away. His mouth goes dry as he locks eyes with Akechi, standing there in his ponytail and old hoodie, but with no mask to hide his features. Akechi smiles at him, honest in a way that he’s never seen from him before, and Akira knows that he never has and never will see anyone more breathtaking.

The stone still held tightly in his hands, a brief spark of fear enters his stomach as he knows the moment he steps forward he’ll never be able to return to the sea. And yet, Akechi stands here, waiting expectantly in the middle of the empty aquarium, and Akira finds his feet moving forward as he makes his way over to him.

“Kurusu,” Akechi says with a small smile, his gaze falling to the stone before rising to meet Akira’s eyes again. There’s a softness to his expression that warms Akira from the inside out in a way that the sun above the ocean waves never could.

“This is for you,” Akira tells him, holding the stone out to Akechi who silently takes it within his hands. As he watches Akechi inspect it, Akira finds himself increasingly nervous about what he’s going to think. He has no idea what he’s going to do if he doesn’t find it suitable and rejects it, and the thought makes Akira fidget restlessly on his feet.

After what seems like a small eternity passes, Akechi finally halts his inspection, and with one quick motion he tosses the rock into a nearby fountain. Akira watches it drop into the water and his heart sinks along with the stone.

It hadn’t been good enough.

And yet, when Akira looks back at Akechi, it’s to see him with that same warmth in his expression. Then, in the next moment, he’s suddenly watching Akechi jump into the fountain after the rock. Water splashes up around him, and Akira stares wide eyed at Akechi lounging back provocatively in the middle of the shallow water. He sits there, his hair dripping water, with his hoodie gone and left only in his dress shirt and slacks, the white material now sopping wet and completely see-through.

“Come join me, _Akira_ ,” Akechi purrs.

Akira swallows and steps toward the fountain, seeing his gifted stone sitting next to Akechi and realizing that he’d accepted it after all. Knowing innately that it’d been sufficient, and now the fountain must be their new home.

Stepping into the shallow water, Akira hovers over Akechi, suddenly feeling awkward and unsure of what he’s supposed to do. Akechi takes his hand and yanks him down, Akira falling so he’s straddling him, his lips a breath away from Akechi’s own. He wants to cross that final bit of distance, wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything. But before he can, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye as Akechi reaches down next to him, and out of the water of the fountain he pulls out the familiar bottle of whiskey from the hidden depths. Which should have been impossible since Akira _swore_ he’d gotten rid of that at some point.

“How did you…?”

“Shh,” Akechi silences him, placing a finger against his lips. Akira watches the bob of his throat, transfixed, as Akechi takes a long drink from the bottle. When he places the bottle back, the water turns the color of whiskey and the smell of alcohol surrounds them. Akira blinks in surprise, but then Akechi’s hand is clutching the material of his shirt and pulling him in close. “Welcome home, Akira,” he purrs, and suddenly he’s the only thing that matters.

“Akechi…” Akira says, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. Akechi’s hand finds its way overtop of his, holding it as he tilts his head until Akira’s fingers find their way past his lips. His tongue lapping around the digits and leaving him completely dry-mouthed as he watches, entranced. Eyes locked with his, Akechi shifts until his leg is pressing against him, leaving Akira gasping and holding onto his shoulder with his free hand.

Dislodging his hand from his mouth with a _pop_ , Akechi’s lips tilt into an unholy grin, pink and glimmering with saliva.

“What’s your next move, Akira?” He purrs, leaning in so he can feel his breath across his lips. Akira chokes on a whine and finds himself leaning in that final bit of distance.

“Akechi...” he whispers like a prayer, his lips only a hair's-breadth away from Akechi’s own, when he’s met with the wet skin of his hand instead.

“You have to earn it first,” Akechi whispers like the devil, pushing Akira away to his complete and utter distress. He’d been so close-

But then that no longer matters, as without warning, Akechi manages to switch their position so Akira finds himself on his back, half-submerged in the fountain. Straddling his hips sits Akechi, looking down at him as if he wants to devour him, piece by piece. Akira shudders, his hands reaching out to grab him by the hips, only to have them slapped away.

“I didn’t say you could touch,” Akechi says, glaring down at him. Akira freezes as if it’d been a command, chest heaving, as spindly arms that look like some weird cross between octopus arms and seaweed rise from the surface of the fountain and tie down his arms and legs. Akira attempts to move his limbs, not finding even the slightest bit of give in his restraints, and when he looks back up at Akechi, he’s smirking down at him, clearly satisfied.

“Are you afraid of me, Kurusu?” Akechi asks him, trailing a hand leisurely up his chest. Akira jolts at the sudden use of his last name combined with the _predatory_ look adorning Akechi’s expression, as he realizes that he’s completely defenseless and at his mercy.

“No,” Akira tells him anyway, knowing it to be true. Akechi’s gaze narrows, and with one fluid motion he reaches into the water of the fountain and pulls out an extremely sharp looking knife from its depths. Akira swallows, entranced by the glint of the blade now held in Akechi’s hands, as he takes it and places the edge near Akira’s collarbone. His breathing quickens as he meets the dangerous glint in Akechi’s eyes, and he knows as well as he knows anything that he could do absolutely anything he wanted to him and Akira wouldn’t voice a single word of complaint.

He braces himself for the pain of the knife cutting through skin, when instead Akechi trails it slowly down his torso, cutting through the material of his shirt as if it was paper. There’s a brief spark of pain when he presses a little too hard, but it only makes Akira’s pulse thrumb more excitedly. With the bare skin of his chest now revealed, Akechi trails a lazy hand up it, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His fingers come away bloody, and Akechi eyes it with casual interest before slipping his fingers into his mouth, locking eyes with Akira as his tongue swirls around the digits.

Akira breathes out his name, captivated and completely entranced by the sight of the blood smeared across his lips when he pulls his hand away. He breathes his name again as Akechi slides down his hips until he’s perched over his thighs, the edge of the knife resting promisingly at Akira’s waistband. When Akechi meets his eyes and presses just hard enough to cut through the material, Akira whispers his name desperately as he-

... _wakes up_ to a paw pressing into the side of his nose.

“Would you stop saying _‘Akechi’_ in your sleep, you’re weirding me out,” Mona says as Akira’s left blinking blurrily up at him.

He’s confused for a moment before the remnants of his dream make themselves known and pure mortification hits when he realizes how much it had _affected_ him. Suddenly very glad that the blanket was bunched up the way it was, Akira slams his head back onto the pillow and tries to think of anything to help him calm down. He thinks back to Kamoshida’s shadow and that seems to do the job, leaving only a faint trace of nausea in its place.

“Joker?” Mona says, looking down at him. “You okay?”

Akira stares at him blankly. He finds the memories of the dream coming back, and with it comes a very specific tidbit of info he remembers finding while he was idly scrolling through marine animal facts last night at Akechi’s apartment.

_Male penguins gift potential mates rocks to woo them. They then use these rocks to build their nests._

Akira groans and hides his face in his hands.

“Mona,” he says, “I think there might be something wrong with me.”

“What happened?” Morgana asks, prodding at his hands with a paw, but Akira refuses to budge. He was perfectly content to hide his head in shame for the rest of his life. He’d never be able to look Akechi in the eyes ever again.

“Nightmare,” he says because that’s exactly what his entire life has just become.

Morgana continues to prod at his hands, and seems to be saying something but Akira is much too busy lamenting his entire existence to listen. He’s been thinking and worrying so much about Akechi that apparently his own subconscious has decided to spawn a penguin-based sex dream about him. To add to that, he’s also not sure how the hell knives entered the picture, but there’s a part of him that really wants to know the conclusion to his dream and he doesn’t know how the fuck he’s supposed to deal with that.

What he does know is that his brain is clearly malfunctioning and he definitely needed to do something about it fast.

***

It’s that thought process that leads Akira to the food market the next day.

Well, that combined with the very poorly thought out idea he’d had earlier that morning which required him to obtain all the best foods to have both before and after drinking. He might not be able to cure Akechi’s drinking problem...if he _did_ actually have said problem, but maybe Akira could stock his barren fridge and cabinets with enough food to help out in that department at least. Anything would be better than...noodles. Honestly, how does a person accumulate nothing besides _noodles_ to store in their cabinets? Either way, he wasn’t sure if Akechi actually would accept anything from him at all, but he could always break into his apartment and leave everything for him later. Which might actually be the preferable option since he was still unsure if he’d be able to look Akechi in the eye ever again. It probably wasn’t the most solid of ideas, but Akira was desperate and he had no idea what else to do.

“How many are you getting!?” Morgana calls, his undignified screech of alarm muffled by the bag he was currently being held prisoner in, since if anyone were to see he’d brought a cat in the middle of a food mart they’d very definitely kick him out.

“A few,” Akira tells him, picking up yet another avocado and placing it in his basket.

“Oh, Akira-Kun?” At the sound of his name, Akira looks up to spot none other than Makoto Nijima looking down at his shopping basket as if it personally offended her. “That’s certainly a lot of eggs and avocados you have there…”

Akira frowns down at his basket filled with several cartons of eggs and about a dozen avocados. It wasn’t that weird, was it? Plenty of people ate eggs and avocados. Maybe not... _together_ , but Akria was always up for trying new things.

“They’re high in fat and good at raising your potassium levels,” he says, looking back up at her blankly.

Akira knows this because avocados were one of the recommended foods to have after a night of heavy drinking. They’d raise your potassium levels from alcohol consumption and dehydration. Their fat content also helped with sobriety, as did the eggs. The eggs _also_ would help increase glutathione and would help with hangover symptoms...

...He really hopes Akechi likes avocado and eggs. If he doesn’t...well he still did need to stop and pick up ingredients for pancakes as well as some bread and crackers.

“I see…” Makoto says, eyeing him a bit dubiously. “Are you... _lacking_ potassium in your diet?”

Akira blinks.

“They’re for a friend.”

“Oh, well that’s nice of you to help them out then.”

The smile she offers him is a bit awkward, but Akira appreciates the effort nonetheless. And as he looks at her the thought occurs to him that Makoto might actually be a very good person to ask for advice. She wasn’t part of the group so it’s not as if she’d instantly know he was talking about Akechi, and yet he also knew her enough to trust her and her opinion.

“ _Actually_ ,” he says before the silence drags on too long. “If you don’t mind, could I ask your opinion on something?”

Her eyes widen a bit at his request.

“Oh yes, of course.”

“Okay, so I have this friend,” Akira begins conversationally, not wanting to exactly convey every ounce of his concern and general worries in the middle of the produce aisle. “And I might have walked in on this friend trying to down an entire bottle of whisky by himself.” He pauses then, watching as her brows crinkle as she eyes him critically.

“Is...this friend of yours of legal drinking age?”

“He’s eighteen,” Akira responds quickly, hoping that she won’t press the issue anymore. He came to her for advice, not for the student council president to seriously question the legality of Akechi’s actions. As much as he was worrying over Akechi’s drinking habits, between their frequent bouts to the Metaverse and his _suspicions_ about Akechi himself, somehow whether or not he was of legal age _to be_ drinking wasn’t really the pressing issue at the moment.

“I see…” She frowns, but to her credit doesn’t seem to be about to press. “And you’re not sure if he’s been making a habit of this?” Makoto adds after a moment.

“No idea,” Akira shrugs. “He’s a very...private person, so even if he did I don’t think he’d tell me.”

And that was putting it rather lightly. He’s pretty sure that Akechi could be the heaviest drinker in the world and still he’d deny ever even being near it unless Akira was physically there to prove him wrong. It was infuriating. _Akechi_ was infuriating. Couldn’t he just see that Akira was trying to help because he was worried about him?

Makoto nods, as if that makes sense, completely oblivious to the mini-rant happening inside of Akira’s head.

“Have you tried?” She asks him, “Talking to him about it I mean.”

“I don’t want to push him away,” Akira tells her honestly.

She nods as if this too makes sense. “He might be willing to listen if you reiterate that you’re only asking because you’re concerned and because you care.”

Akira scoffs. “I...don’t think that will work.”

If Akechi hasn’t figured out that Akira cared about him by now, he’s pretty sure saying as much wasn’t exactly going to change anything. If anything, staging some sort of _intervention_ , even if it was just between Akira and Akechi, would probably have the opposite effect from intended. Akira had gotten to trust him a little by being _there_ for him, and he was maybe a little bit terrified that pushing him at all could reverse all of the progress they’d made.

For as much as he liked to be Joker, Akira was still _Akira_. Changing that was proving to be more difficult than he’d thought.

“So instead you’re choosing to...show up at his house with a month’s supply of avocados and eggs?” Makoto asks, once again eyeing him a bit dubiously.

He suddenly feels like it would be a bad idea to mention the bread and pancakes.

“I...don’t know what else to do,” he admits, kind of hating the defeated sound of his own voice. So much for not pouring his heart out in the middle of the produce section.

Makoto hums thoughtfully in response. “Well, I of course don’t understand the entire situation,” she starts, clearly choosing her words carefully. “But for now I would suggest keeping an eye on him and continuing to check in as much as possible. If you think that asking him a question might push him away...I’m not sure if showing up with a month’s supply of groceries is going to fix the issue.”

Akira stares a little sadly at his collection of avocados and eggs.

“You’re probably right,” he says, a tinge embarrassed to have been caught like this. Akechi was slowly killing all of his brain cells and this time he hadn’t even listened to Morgana who usually proved to be the more reasonably minded of the two whenever Akechi was involved.

Probably noticing his sudden somber disposition, Makoto’s expression softens.

“I am always here if you need to talk about anything. Um here,” she says, and pulls out a little notepad and pen from her bag, writing something down before ripping off the top page and handing it over. “I don’t believe I ever gave you my number.” She blushes slightly, and fidgets a little. “I um, of course, already have yours.”

“Thanks,” he tells her, choosing to ignore the last part and pocketing it. He couldn’t exactly remember if he’d given her his number or if she’d called him before, but he wasn’t really too concerned about Makoto Nijima stalking him. She’d apologized for her behavior before, and he believed her.

“Mhm.” She hesitates a little longer, as if unsure how to proceed, before she does a quick half-bow and mutters her goodbye without meeting his eyes. That at least strikes him as a little strange, but then again Makoto has done quite a few...odd things in the time he’s known her. Her little decision to antagonize a mafia member in some back alley being one of those things.

Once she’s gone, Akira looks down at his very sad looking basket.

“I should probably put this all back,” he says to himself, earning a very frustrated series of sounds from the Mona-bag in response.

Still, while he’s not exactly sure what he’s going to do, he finds that after talking to Makoto he does feel the slightest bit more calm about things. Apparently talking to people helped. Who knew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one kind of got away from me...heh :3  
> Thank you to everyone who has commented and/or left kudos! We appreciate you all so much!


	12. GORO VI: Conflicted

Goro was getting sloppy. 

He came to this discomforting realisation at three in the morning, over four days after Kurusu had found him in that shameful state of drunkenness. He was seated on his toilet, the lid closed, cleaning up his latest mistake. An ugly, painful, bloody mistake in the form of a jagged cut that swerved under his left, bottommost rib and settled half an inch below his sternum.

It wasn't serious: it bled a lot, but the cut was shallow and wouldn't even scar, if he applied enough healing cream to it _(it can't scar, the phantom thieves can't see it and wonder-)._ Yet, in the Metaverse this had been an injury that had almost gutted him, that had him, for a brief moment, intimately acquainted with the slimy-warm spool of his innards before a frantic fistful of Recov-R had the wound sealing up before it became a problem.

Sloppy. He had gotten sloppy.

_Spoiled._

He had anticipated Joker to cover his weak spot before belatedly realising he wasn't there, had expected the bracing rush of healing magic from Ann or Morgana before remembering _they weren't there,_ had waited for Yusuke and Ryuji to rush to his defence before remembering **_they weren’t there._ ** He had been alone, _as he always used to be,_ panting through the pain and bulldozing through to finish off his target _by himself._

Another psychotic breakdown for a Shadow on the verge of spawning its own Palace, a favour for Okumura. Almost bit off more than he could chew thanks to his _sloppy mistake._ No one else but himself to blame. 

Goro gripped the edge of the toilet when a rush of dizziness hit him, and he wasn't sure if it was from the shock of injury or simple _exhaustion._ He kept getting headaches every time he summoned Loki now, nauseous flashes of vertigo like something had been knocked off-kilter somewhere inside his skull. His work tempo had rocketed upwards - Goro wasn't sure if the increased slew of hits was a sign of Shido's forgiveness or anger - leaving him ragged as he dived in and out of Mementos every night. The exhaustion and headaches were from that, he was sure, or it was- just stress. It's just stress. He's fine.

He's getting sloppy.

He's fine!

Goro let the bloodied towel drop on his lap, hiding his face in his stained hands as these two thoughts clashed in his head. He focused on just _breathing,_ fingernails digging into his skin _._ He was slipping, but he was fine, he was starting to get _used_ to teammates, but he didn't _need_ them, he was determined to follow through on his plan but he didn't _want_ to-

 _you're contradicting yourself,_ something whispered inside of him.

"It's fine," he rasped, lowering his hands and picking up the bloodied towel. He stood up, _"I'm_ fine. Everything is _fine."_

His pallid, bruised-eyed reflection said this was clearly a lie.

"Shut up," he snarled at it, disgustedly tossing the soiled towel into the sink and scrutinising his wound. Parts of it were already scabbed over, streaks of copper-brown dried in the crevices of his abs. The skin around the cut was purplish and bruised looking, a result of the Shadow getting its last licks in and Goro running out of Recov-R. It looked bad, but it wasn’t _bad._

"It could be worse,” he muttered, and opened his mirror cabinet to get the bandages. 

* * *

It got worse.

"Mornin'," Kurusu greeted on his doorstep at _nine in the morning,_ a judgemental Morgana peering at him from over his shoulder, "I got you breakfast."

Goro stared tiredly at him.

"Why are you here," he said flatly.

"I just said, breakfast," Kurusu said easily.

The Phantom Thief hopefully lifted the carrier bag he had been toting, a small smile in place - the same smile Joker wore when he was trying to seduce a Shadow into becoming a new Persona. Goro would normally be immune, but he had skipped dinner last night to be disembowelled in Mementos instead, and his stomach decided to loudly inform them of this fact the moment food was mentioned.

Kurusu's eyebrows raised at the thunderous growl that left Goro's stomach; "Wow."

"S-Shut up," Goro snapped, his face feeling uncomfortably warm, "Just give me the food."

"I need to cook it. Unless you know how to make scrambled eggs?"

"..."

So, that was how Goro ended up with Kurusu in his kitchen - _again._

It wasn't good, free breakfast or not. Despite Kurusu being busy using his neglected kitchen to make scrambled eggs, he kept glancing over at Goro awkwardly hovering nearby with an unreadable look. His gaze was piercing, scrutinising, and Goro's pulse picked up at being under the weight of it. What did he see? Think? What conclusion was he drawing?

Because Morgana was looking at him too - trying and failing to be stealthy about it. The cat was curled up on the breakfast bar feigning sleep, one eye squinted half-open to observe him suspiciously.

This wasn't how Goro wanted to spend his morning after a rough night. His gut was a radiating bruise of pain, the injury expertly hidden away by a thin layer of bandages and his Featherman t-shirt. If Kurusu or Morgana saw the bandages… well. It'd be difficult to explain away.

But Goro was fine. _Fine._ And he needed Kurusu and Morgana to believe this too. Goro was absolutely fine, positively _delighted_ to have his- _teammates_ in his apartment making him breakfast. Ecstatic. Not at all _anxious_ and _bewildered._

Goro's pulse was rabbit-fast. That probably wasn't healthy.

Morgana gave up feigning sleep, “You’re _twitchy_ today. Something wrong, Crow?”

“Twitchy?” Goro levelled a look of utter disinterest at the cat, wondering if he could hear his heartbeat spike at that (correct) observation, “I’m annoyed that you’ve invaded my apartment without notice again.”

“Hmm,” Morgana said. 

“Sorry about that,” Kurusu said insincerely, “It slipped my mind to call ahead.”

More like Kurusu knew Goro would’ve made some bullshit excuse to reject his offer of breakfast and pretended not to be in. The asshole had him figured out. 

“Right,” Goro said, his voice thick with dubiousness. 

Kurusu finished up the scrambled eggs, dollaping them into bowls since Goro didn’t have any clean plates, and they relocated to the living area. Goro felt like he should be given an award for his exemplary acting skills, not betraying a smidgeon of discomfort or pain as he sat down on the sofa, tucking his legs up to better conceal his stomach. He didn’t want to chance Kurusu getting suspicious - all it would take was one glimpse of his bandages and they’d launch an interrogation. Kurusu had been getting bossy lately, when concerned.

 _he’s such a motherhen,_ he thought with an odd twinge of irritated fondness. 

“So,” Kurusu said, a bit of shyness sliding into his tone now that he wasn’t occupied in cooking Goro breakfast, “Futaba managed to accompany me to Shibuya yesterday.”

“Oh?” Goro said, picking at his scrambled eggs. Despite being ravenously hungry, he felt queasy. Kurusu was watching him like a hawk. 

“Only for an hour, and I was worried she was gonna get dehydrated with how much she was sweating,” Kurusu continued, not touching his own serving of eggs, “But she managed it.”

“That’s good,” Goro muttered, forcing himself to shove a forkful of eggs into his mouth. 

“We were thinking when the holidays end, we could have a beach day with her,” Kurusu said, “On the 29th, we were thinking. As a sort of celebration for the Phantom Thieves.”

Goro automatically did the math. It was the 12th of August today, so… “Just over two weeks? That’s not a lot of time to acclimatise her.”

“Futaba’s determined,” Kurusu said fondly. 

“Mm,” That she was. Goro supposed it was a good trait of hers, that she had the courage and fortitude to confront the things that terrified her to the core, even if her legs shook and she visibly quailed. She had a stronger spine than all of the simpering sycophants Shido surrounded himself with, and he could respect her for that.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kurusu asked, dropping the pretence of small talk altogether, “You’re barely eating.” 

“I’m fine,” Goro said, and spitefully shovelled another forkful of eggs into his mouth to prove Kurusu wrong. 

“Hmm,” Kurusu said. 

It was the same ‘hmm’ Morgana had given. The ‘hmm’ of ‘I know you’re lying but I’ll let it slide for now’. Goro felt a spike of annoyance, but he was too tired to pursue it. So what if Kurusu suspected him of- what? Being hungover again? God, Goro _wished_ he was hungover. It would be less painful than whatever the hell was going on with his guts right now. 

_if only i had a back alley doctor on call like kurusu,_ Goro thought bitterly, thinking of Takemi. He could request Shido for assistance - he would no doubt rustle up a back alley doctor from somewhere to keep his supernatural assassin alive and kicking - but that was a level of vulnerability and indebtedness he did _not_ want with Shido. He’d rather die from blood poisoning. 

A strange silence fell between them. Goro alternated between eating his eggs and picking at them, having to rest between each bite to let his temperamental stomach digest. Kurusu pretended to watch the television - some documentary about dolphins - while secretly studying him, while Morgana not-so-secretly frowned at Goro like he was personally offended at his slow eating pace. 

It was tense. It was also strangely relaxing. Only Kurusu could place Goro in such a bizarre situation. If he hadn’t come round, no doubt Goro would still be curled up in bed, too miserable and aching to muster the energy for food. He was still miserable and aching, but at least he wasn’t starving anymore. Did he feel grateful to Kurusu? Maybe? He didn’t know. He felt weird. 

Breakfast was finished in that strange, too-tense, too-relaxed silence. Goro’s legs started to cramp up, so after carefully leaning forwards to deposit his empty bowl on the coffee table, trying not to reveal how the mere act of bending over sent white-hot bolts of pain through his abdomen, he curled up into a tiny ball in the corner of the sofa. 

“You really are a hedgehog,” Kurusu said, finding amusement at Goro’s little protective huddle, “Are you comfortable like that?”

“I’m fine,” Goro mumbled. 

“You can rest your legs over my lap again, if you want,” Kurusu offered casually. 

Morgana groaned and hopped off the sofa, muttering inaudibly under his breath. 

The chance of his t-shirt hitching up was too high, but the idea of stretching his legs out sounded nice. He debated with himself, staring intently at the television, before slowly, and carefully, straightening his legs. Like when he was drunk, he rested them casually across Kurusu’s lap, and like before, Kurusu’s hand rested easily on his knee, the thumb pressing gently against the side of it. 

It felt nice. 

“What’s this?” Kurusu asked, and Goro glanced over to see him frowning at an ugly bruise that blossomed along the inside of his left inner thigh, visible only because his shorts hitched up in his new position. The width of it was bigger than his hand, and stretched downwards towards the side of his knee - gravity pulling the subdermal bleeding downwards.

Huh. When did he get that? 

“A bruise,” he said after a long pause, dismissing it as a forgotten injury from last night, “Obviously. Are you sure those glasses aren’t for show?”

Kurusu glanced at him, his expression unreadable. 

“...does it hurt?” he asked, his hand shifting up to lightly, _gently,_ press his thumb against the bruised skin. A dull ache flared at the careful pressure, making him flinch. Kurusu pulled his hand away like he was burned. 

“No,” Goro said, ignoring Kurusu’s deadpan look, “It doesn’t hurt _that_ much.” 

“Hmm,” Kurusu said. 

Goro was getting sick of that ‘hmm’.

“Where’d you get it?” Morgana asked accusingly, jumping onto the coffee table to get a better look, “That doesn’t look like it’s from an everyday thing.” 

_morgana is getting to be a_ **_problem,_ ** Goro thought irritably, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Kurusu tapped his knee, “It’s not a small bruise.” 

“Maybe it happened when I was drunk, I don’t know,” Goro said flippantly, meeting Kurusu’s gaze firmly, “It’s just a bruise.” 

Kurusu and Morgana exchanged looks. Morgana looked like he was trying to telepathically convey something to a reluctant Kurusu, and Goro narrowed his eyes at the silent, yet tense, exchange. 

“Why are you looking at each other like that?” he asked suspiciously. 

“Um,” Kurusu said eloquently, his gaze skittering away from Morgana and towards the ceiling, “Like what?”

Goro sighed and let it drop. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with them right now. 

“Nothing,” he muttered, letting his head rest against the arm of the sofa. The dolphins were still on the TV screen, their elegant forms swimming through the dark, blue-green haze of the ocean. 

Somehow, he dozed off, despite the palpable tension radiating between Morgana and Kurusu. It was a light, fitful doze, where he was still fully aware of his surroundings, his attention snared by how Kurusu’s thumb gently rubbed small, soothing circles against the inside of his knee. It was a very nice, relaxing feeling, which was strange because Goro never _liked_ people entering his personal space, touching him without asking, but with Kurusu…

He got used to him being in his space in the Metaverse. Fighting back to back, shoulder to shoulder, striking their palms together in a Baton Pass, almost colliding in their excitement to crush the same enemy, the celebratory shoulder slaps and elbow nudges and sometimes, when Joker was feeling bold, the affectionate hair ruffles that got Crow huffing and chasing after him, the warm laughter of the Phantom Thieves following them…

They were a tactile lot, and they pulled Crow into their childish, yet infectious team dynamic without hesitation. At some point Goro must’ve built up an immunity to them being in his space, until he derived a warm sort of comfort and security from-

…

Comfort and _security?_

 _shit,_ he thought, opening his eyes as that revelation chased away any and all drowsiness and replaced it with a suffocating nausea. He frantically shoved the feeling down and away though, because Kurusu and Morgana were _right there_ and- he can’t act- fucking crazy in front of them right now. 

He lifted his legs off Kurusu’s lap. 

“Bathroom,” he said to the questioning glance thrown his way, not even looking at him as he stood up and retreated with his head held high, his heart thumping a frantic prey-beat in his throat. 

It was a good thing he went to the bathroom, because when he strode in and carefully shut the door behind him, he saw the bloodied towel sitting in the sink, small smears and droplets of dried brown staining the ceramic rim. Oh. Yeah. He had been too tired last night - early morning? - to clean up. 

If Kurusu had needed to use the bathroom before he got in here… fuck, he’d completely _forgotten._ What the hell was wrong with him?

Goro scrubbed at his face roughly, exhaling hard, before he picked up the towel and roughly wiped up the dried blood clinging to the sink’s ceramic. It came off easily, thank god, and he stuffed the offending towel under the sink with too much force. 

He stayed crouched on the floor, his forehead pressed against his knees despite the painful pressure it brought against his stomach. Unwanted, long-forgotten, utterly abandoned emotions were clawing at their coffins like vengeful zombies, begging to be let out and acknowledged-

He couldn’t deal with this right now. He felt like a pane of glass someone was holding in their hands, just applying more and more pressure, the first few cracks starting to snap through the middle - _crkcrkcrk_ \- how much more until he finally shattered under the strain? No, no he won’t _shatter._ He was better than that. _He_ shattered people, he was- invincible. Strong. Better than the rest of these idiots in this world. He’ll overcome this. He always did.

He was strong. Invincible. Better. Strong. Invincible. Better. Strong. Invincible. Better.

His breathing steadied at this aggressive pep talk. The voice in his head sounded like Shido. He didn’t know how to feel about it. 

Feeling more stable, Goro pushed himself up off the floor and roughly yanked his mirror cabinet open. He took out the painkillers and popped two dry, muffling a cough as he shoved the bottle back into the cabinet. It’s fine. He is _fine._ Everything is **_fine._ **

It didn’t matter that he was comfortable with Kurusu - with the others. It didn’t matter that he found himself instinctively turning to them for help in Mementos - even when he was alone. It didn’t _matter._ It wouldn’t matter. By the time the elections rolled around, none of this would matter anymore. Shido, him, the Phantom Thieves, he will… 

Goro stared at his pale-faced reflection. 

He was a selfish creature by nature. He greedily clung to the things he wanted with an iron grip, refusing to let go, a starving dog clamping its jaws around a bone. That strange, incomprehensible yet warm feeling with the Phantom Thieves… he wanted to keep it, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t he? _Could_ he?

 _shido wants to frame them,_ Goro thought to himself, **_shido_ ** _wants to frame them, for the mental shutdowns. but is it of any benefit to me for that to happen?_

Was it?

No one had any hope of figuring out the Mental Shutdowns or Psychotic Breakdowns. They were missing too much information, and with the death of Wakaba Isshiki and Shido impounding all of her research, there was no way to _learn_ that information. The Phantom Thieves were a security risk, but considering they were committing vigilantism, a _crime,_ they weren’t likely to explain their methods to the police either. Did they even need to learn who Black Mask was? Once Shido was dealt with, Black Mask would no longer be necessary. No more Mental Shutdowns. No more Psychotic Breakdowns. 

The Black Mask will end up being an unsolved mystery, fading into obscurity. The Phantom Thieves didn’t have to know. They didn’t have to be _framed._ He could keep kicking that can down the road until the elections - Shido didn’t know shit about the Metaverse. Goro could trick him. He could- he could _keep_ the Phantom Thieves-

The emotion that rushed through him was feverish and hysterical, almost crushing his ribcage from the force of its arrival. Goro didn’t know what emotion it was. It felt like his insides were exploding, curdling, the floor dropping out beneath his feet. He bottled it up and swiftly suffocated it, before it overwhelmed him. 

He gripped the edges of his sink in a white-knuckled grip, his breathing uncomfortably loud in the small space of his bathroom. His eyes were a little too wide, an echo of Loki’s madness peeking around the edges - it was entirely him. His reflection was trembling. Exhaustion. Stress. It’s fine. He’s fine. Invincible. Strong. Better.

“You can do this. It’s fine,” he told himself, “It’s fine. I can deal with this.”

(if he said it enough times...)

* * *

When Goro returned from the bathroom, he all but kicked Kurusu out of his apartment with an excuse about needing to do work. Kurusu had been reluctant to go, but a combination of Goro aggressively taking out his thick stack of schoolwork _and_ casework, and Morgana reminding Kurusu of prior engagements, succeeded in chasing the damned motherhen out of his apartment, but sadly not out of his _life._

No, not sadly, good. Goro wanted him in his life- except not. Or he did. He didn’t?

_you’re contradicting yourself._

Goro’s mood transformed into something mercurial and deranged in Kurusu’s absence; he kept facilitating between a manic sort of determination and a nauseous anxiety about Shido - Phantom Thieves - plan? His plan. What plan? He had no idea what- 

Then, as always, it got worse. 

Shido called. 

_“You’ve been working hard,”_ Shido said, his voice warm and pleased despite ghosting him for over a fucking _month_ . Goro told himself not to fall for it, but he still felt himself perk up eagerly at the praise like the affection-starved dog that he was, _“You haven’t missed a single target this week. Good job.”_

“The tempo has been a little higher than I’m used to, but I adjusted,” Goro said, trying to aim for confident but not _too_ confident. It always compelled Shido to cut him back down if he showed too much pride in his work. 

_“You have, you have. Look,”_ Shido’s tone softened, _“I’m aware I’ve been putting you under a lot of pressure, recently. Higashi told me you were a little upset about the change in plan.”_

Minefield. 

Goro wasn’t sure where to place his feet. 

“Your communication has… notably lessened,” Goro said cautiously, his earlier pride shrivelling into anxious tension, “It’s left me unsure of my standing.” 

_“I was pissed about Madarame and Kaneshiro,”_ Shido admitted, but he didn’t sound angry, _“Kaneshiro, especially. His arrest almost ruined everything - we’re lucky he didn’t say anything about our cause. I couldn’t understand how a bunch of snot-nosed, noble brats could snipe such_ high value assets _out from under your nose.”_

There was a pause. Goro didn’t interrupt it. 

_“Your work with Okumura’s requests have redeemed you, though. The Medjed thing- ah, a miscalculation. I didn’t expect their little group to have a decent hacker,”_ Shido’s tone sharpened a fraction, _“Did_ **_you?”_ **

Minefield. Minefield. _Minefield._

“My investigation led me to believe they were students of Shujin,” Goro said. He could feel his heart accelerate, and could only thank God this meeting wasn’t in person, “I wouldn’t have expected a student to go toe-to-toe with an international cybercriminal organisation and come out on top. It was a surprise to me as well, sir.”

 _“Of course,”_ The sharpness didn’t leave Shido’s tone, _“How is the investigation coming along? You haven’t given me any reports regarding that recently.”_

“It’s- stalled, a fraction,” Goro stumbled over his words, and viciously pressed his fingers against his stomach where the wound was. The pain kept him focused and on his toes, his metaphorical foot wavering on where to place his next step in this verbal minefield, “I have a lead that I’m covertly following up. In a- in a month or two, I should be able to positively identify the leader of the Phantom Thieves.”

 _“Hmm,”_ Shido said. 

That ‘hmm’. 

_‘i know you’re lying’,_ it said. 

_“Alright,”_ Shido said agreeably, as Goro’s heart almost crawled out of his mouth, _“In a month I expect a name. No more delaying or procrastinating - a_ **_name,_ ** _Akechi. I want one. Understand?”_

“I understand,” Goro said distantly. 

_“Good. Oh, and try to keep up the good work for Okumura. Keeping him happy, keeps_ me _happy. This close to the elections, I’m not in the mood to tolerate anymore failures or slip ups. Got it?”_

“Yes, sir,” Goro said very very quietly. 

_“Good boy.”_

Shido hung up without a goodbye. As usual. 

Goro’s hand was shaking slightly when he put the burner phone down. That was an ultimatum, then. 

A month. Shit. A _month?_

 _what’s the problem?_ The Shido in his head said, _you were planning on selling them out eventually._

 _because i don’t want to?_ The him in his head said back, but it sounded uncertain, bewildered, soft and quiet, _i think. i don’t know._

Goro stared at his lap, like he could see the shattered remains on his plans right there. What was he even doing anymore?

His path had been so clear before. Endure. Help lift Shido up, up and up and up, to the very pinnacle, so when Goro pushed him down, the fall would shatter him into a thousand million pieces. It didn’t matter who was collateral for that. No one else mattered. Only Shido’s humiliation and downfall. 

But now, he was being yanked into multiple directions and he wasn’t sure which desire to chase after. He wanted Shido humiliated and broken, grovelling at his feet or- dead? No, he didn’t know. Just broken, and- he wanted- to keep the warmth of the Phantom Thieves- no, he was repulsed by it. Too alien, clingy, invasive - but it felt _nice._ He craved it, and Kurusu-

Goro didn’t let the thought finish. 

_i'm better than them,_ Shido in his head said, _stronger, smarter,_ **_better._ ** _why should i even give a shit about them?_

_am i better?_

_you don't_ **_need_ ** _them._

 _but i want to keep…_ Goro let the thought trail off, and the Shido in his head said nothing.

Goro wanted. That was nothing new. Goro wanted a lot of things with the same jealous desire of someone long used to going without. He also hated that he wanted, and denied himself to show that he was mature. It just made him hungry instead, starving and angry and hateful of everything. An ill-trained attack dog just waiting to be put down.

Goro slowly stood up and walked to the bathroom. He needed to change his bandages.

(as with everything, he boxed all of this up and shoved it down to where Loki dwelt.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


it barely fit.)

* * *

The next two days passed weirdly. Because of the increased Psychotic Breakdowns courtesy of Okumura, who seemed determined to wipe out any and all competition in the hospitality sector and damn how fucking _suspicious_ it looked, Goro was roped into helping Sae rapidly collate and research the events in an effort to pinpoint the cause and effect. It was impossible, of course, but Sae didn’t seem to accept that word in her vocabulary anymore.

Goro went through the motions with her, admittedly, and when he finished for the day, he fulfilled his obligations to Okumura and went home, limping and bruised. He had run out of recovery items, but there was no way to ask Kurusu for more without drawing suspicion, and none of his Persona could heal. It was wearing him down. 

_this is definitely punishment,_ Goro concluded after day two, tiredly staring at his bedroom ceiling in the early hours of the morning. The needle sharp pain in his gut kept him awake. 

But, he endured, as he endured everything. 

On the third day, August 15th, the morning arrived with the buzz of an incoming call and Goro groaning when his amazingly peaceful half-doze was interrupted. He ignored the soreness in his muscles as he blindly smacked at his bedside table, hand fumbling until his fingers curled around the vibrating plastic of his phone. He somehow managed to answer it, eyes squeezed shut as he answered the call with a slurred; “Whossat?” 

_“Oh, sorry. Did I wake you up?”_

Kurusu. 

“Why,” he said. 

_“Huh?”_

Goro hung up and threw his phone off the bed. 

He regretted it about ten seconds later when his phone vibrated again, clattering loudly against his floor. He sighed, before crawling out of bed - literally crawling, on his hands and knees - and answered his phone once more. 

_“Uhh, sorry, but, me and Futaba are outside your door,”_ Kurusu said as Goro growled out something that might’ve been _‘what’_ or _‘i’ll kill you’,_ _“We’ve brought breakfast!”_

 _“Yeah!”_ Futaba’s tinny voice crackled in the background, _“We came all the way here! This early in the morning! At least take the food off us!”_

God… damn it. 

“Gimme a minute,” he muttered and hung up. 

It took five minutes for him to coordinate his limbs enough to slither into the bathroom and revitalise himself - and check he didn’t have any visible injuries. His post-target aftercare had been a bit of a blur last night, but he hadn’t been bleeding, he remembered that. 

His face was fine, free of bruising - the helmet of his Metaverse outfit was useful in protecting his face from injuries too difficult to explain away - but there was an ugly, mottled bruise in the vague shape of a handprint on his right forearm. The Shadow his target had transformed into had been a Cu Chulainn, and Goro had a vague recollection of grappling with the elegant yet powerful Shadow when he managed to divest it of its spear. He must’ve got it then. 

“Shit,” he muttered, glaring at it. It looked way too suspicious to keep on display like the one on his thigh. Against his pale skin, the mix of purpling blue and dark red was striking. 

The situation was easily solved with a hoodie, even though the temperature was far too hot for it. He’ll just have to endure (always _fucking_ **_enduring)_ ** and hope Kurusu wouldn’t ask awkward questions. 

By the time he got to the front door, Futaba was lying prone on the doorstep, eagle-spread, with that disturbing paper-mache mask in place. Kurusu was squatting like some delinquent next to her, a carrier bag dangling from the crook of his elbow as he and Morgana played with his phone. All three of them stared up at him (or, he assumed with Futaba, as the mask shifted a fraction in his direction) and he stared back at them, dull-eyed. 

“Were you pooping?” Futaba asked him, “That took forever.” 

“I don’t have to let you in, you know,” Goro said. 

Kurusu stood up, adjusting his carrier bag into his hand, “Uh, sorry for the short notice.”

“I’m sure you are,” Goro said flatly, leaning against the doorway - only to wince when it put pressure on his bruised arm. Kurusu’s eyes narrowed, catching the movement. 

“Are you-” Kurusu started. 

“Budge, budge, budge,” Futaba interrupted, having heaved herself up from her sprawl and was now crawling past Goro’s legs into his apartment. The only reason he didn’t bar her way was because he saw how taut and anxious she really was - being locked outside his apartment for an unknown amount of time must’ve been stressful for her. 

“Please, do come in,” Goro deadpanned, abandoning the door and leaving it to Kurusu to close it behind him. He beelined for the sofa, while Futaba did whatever she was doing on his living room floor, and simply collapsed face down on it. 

...and action he quickly regretted when the solid impact and pressure against his gut made the still-healing injury flash white-hot. He muffled his groan into his sofa cushion, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. 

He felt a small weight land on his back, paws kneading into the tense muscles between his shoulder blades. Morgana. 

“Why do you stink of antiseptic?” Morgana asked him. 

“I was cleaning the bathroom,” Goro lied, his voice muffled by the sofa cushion he was trying to smother himself with. 

“Before you let us in?”

“...yes,” Goro said. 

Morgana sniffed suspiciously, but didn’t press. The cat curled up on his back, confident that Goro wouldn’t move - he was annoyingly right. Exhaustion pulled at him like leaden weights, and he turned his head enough so he could see the television screen. Futaba had turned it on and was rapidly flicking through the channels, her paper-mache mask sitting on the floor next to her. 

Out of view, Goro could hear Kurusu moving about the kitchen, the noise barely masked by the murmur of the TV. For once his apartment felt _lively,_ instead of silent and empty except for him. Morgana was a warm weight on his back. Futaba looked like she belonged sitting on his living room floor, leaning against his coffee table with the TV remote held upwards, half-forgotten in her hand. It was comfortable. 

Comfortable. 

A few months ago, he would’ve been apocalyptic at people barging into his apartment, touching his things and assuming he needed to be taken care of. Now he felt- relieved? In a way. He didn’t have to do anything; he was getting a _home cooked meal_ for free while feeling like total shit, and he didn’t have to put up a mask either. He could huff and growl and snap and they’d all take it in stride - and when did _that_ happen, anyway? He had planned to play innocent, harmless Detective Prince to the hilt, but it all fell apart as soon as it started. 

He liked this. He _liked_ this.

 _a month,_ the Shido in his head reminded him, and Goro closed his eyes, a thorny, burning emotion lodging itself hard in his throat. 

Was he going to throw this away in a month?

He didn’t know. The uncertainty of it rattled him. 

“Oh, hey, an old rerun,” Futaba said, her words accompanied with a familiar theme song that itched at Goro’s brain. It was Featherman, but he couldn’t pin down which season or version. 

Taking the chance for distraction, Goro reluctantly sat up from his ungainly sprawl on his sofa, dislodging Morgana in the process. The cat grumbled as he relocated to the floor and meandered over to Futaba, and Goro tucked himself into a comfortable ball against the sofa arm. It was Phoenix Ranger Featherman R, an old rerun of Episode 34: Hawk’s Betrayal.

“I remember this episode,” Futaba said, “It’s an oldie but a goodie.”

“Didn’t it piss everyone off?” Goro muttered. 

Futaba snorted, “Yeah, it _still_ causes discourse in the R fandom. Anyone brings this episode up in their fic, and you get a whole bunch of people who are like ‘that entire episode was ooc!’ or like, bring out a ten page thesis on how the writers didn’t understand Hawk’s character enough when writing the episode and blah blah blah.”

Goro watched the opening scene of the episode. The animation was somewhat dated, it was fairly old by today’s standards, and Red Hawk was in a dark room, talking in cryptic yet vaguely evil words to some hooded figure on his communicator. 

“It’s usually the people who hate Hawk/Condor though,” Futaba finished, “Since this is pretty, uh, gay with those two.”

“Mhm,” Goro made an agreeable noise.

The episode was fairly simple and straightforward when it came to the plot. Red Hawk was being blackmailed to do a villain’s bidding, the villain somehow knowing the other Rangers’ identities and addresses. Willing to be hated and reviled by his old comrades if it means they continued to live, Red Hawk became a turncloak, goading and clashing with his teammates.

But Black Condor didn’t believe Red Hawk’s betrayal was genuine. While the others wept and raged over being backstabbed, Black Condor endlessly chased after Red Hawk, demanding why, why, why, I will never give up on you, I know you’re good, I know…

Of course, it had a happy ending. There was only thirty minutes dedicated to it, and it was resolved so simply and with no hard feelings. Goro felt a little envious, how such things were so easily brushed over and solved in the Featherman world. 

Kurusu joined them part-way through the episode, bringing bowls of tamago gohan for them all. Goro hadn’t had tamago gohan since his mother was alive, and even then, only sparingly. He felt a bizarre feeling that felt caught between nostalgia and pain when Kurusu handed the bowl over, and idly stirred his chopsticks through the rice.

“What’cha watching?” Kurusu asked, sitting on the sofa next to Goro. Futaba stayed sitting on the floor, her bowl on the coffee table, with Morgana curled up on her lap, avidly watching the bright colours of Red Hawk and Black Condor having a dramatic, heartfelt showdown. 

“Featherman,” Futaba answered, not looking away from the screen as she scooped up some rice with her chopsticks, “Hawk’s Betrayal- aw, just kiss him! Come on!” 

“You know Hawk’s canonly married to Swan, right?” Goro said, just to be a bastard. 

“Canon can suck my-” Futaba cut herself off with a gasp when Black Condor dramatically drew Red Hawk into an embrace. It was raining - because of course every dramatic showdown required rain - but even still, it was clear that tears were running down Red Hawk’s cheeks as he desperately clutched back at Black Condor, sparkles and bubbles better suited to a shoujo anime glittering around them. 

_“Look!”_ Futaba yelled, “How is that _platonic?!”_

“It isn’t?” Kurusu guessed, looking slightly lost. 

“It’s just guys hugging,” Morgana observed.

“This is more than ‘just guys hugging’, Mona. _This_ supports my headcanon that Blue Swan is just a beard,” Futaba continued, clearly gearing up for a rant, “Listen, she is _clearly_ in an threesome with Pink Argyle and Yellow Owl-”

Goro tuned her out, making the necessary humming and agreeing noises as he picked his way through his meal. Kurusu looked like he was valiantly trying to keep up, but it was obvious he wasn’t as intune with Featherman R fandom like Futaba (and himself) was. It was actually kind of amusing to observe Kurusu - his deer-caught-in-headlights look every time Futaba flung a rapidfire question his way about his feelings on Hawk/Condor and, more controversially, Pigeon/Hawk/Condor, was strangely endearing. 

“Aren’t they the same person?” Goro spoke up, after finishing his meal and leaving the bowl on the floor, curled up comfortable in the corner of his sofa with his feet resting against the side of Kurusu’s thigh, “Pigeon and Condor.”

“There’s a _theory_ they are,” Futaba said, “You know the dimension hopping episode- uh, I mean, we saw Black Condor take up the mantle of Silver Vulture in that, right, and its design is similar to Grey Pigeon. It’d make sense if Pigeon was alt!Condor from one of the doomed timelines.”

“I’m for it,” Goro said, and clarified at Futaba’s questioning look, “Pigeon and Condor being the same. It means the finale will be interesting when they finally reveal Pigeon’s identity, and how that will impact the team dynamic.”

“Right? I mean, Black Condor _hates_ Grey Pigeon, and if it turns out that’s him from a doomed timeline? _Drama.”_

Goro hummed agreeable, and lifted his arms in a lazy stretch. He heard his spine pop, his stomach throbbing at the pull of sore muscles, and he idly pushed his sleeve up to scratch an itch that had been bothering him for the past minute. 

“I guess-” Goro started. 

“What’s that?” Kurusu asked sharply, cutting through the relaxed mood instantly. 

Goro froze, startled at the tone, and blinked at Kurusu in honest confusion. Kurusu’s gaze was fixed on his arm, and Goro slowly followed it to see his sleeve pushed back from where he’d scratched at his arm, exposing the blackened, ring like bruises around his forearm against his pale skin. 

It somehow looked worse underneath the living room’s lighting, the skin reddened and mottled around the vivid purple bruises. Futaba gasped at the sight of it. 

Fuck. 

Goro yanked his sleeve down, his mind churning through a myriad of trite excuses. Fuck. _Fuck._ He got too _relaxed-!_

“Akechi?” Kurusu prompted him, his voice a strange mix of gentle and taut. Goro couldn’t parse his expression - too blank, suspicion? This was a difficult bruise to explain away - he can’t say Metaverse. If he did admit to venturing in there by himself, even if it was with the excuse of training- no, too awkward, Kurusu will want to get all up in his business as the leader and Goro might actually _strangle him-_ clumsiness is better, blow to his pride or not- trip, he tripped, obviously, there we go-

“It’s just a bruise,” he said lightly, smoothing down his sleeve and relaxing back against the sofa arm like nothing was wrong. Of course nothing was wrong. It was a normal bruise. Fine, fine, fine. He smiled, Detective Prince dazzle, ignoring the suffocating tension oozing into the previously warm, relaxed atmosphere, “I tripped and caught it against the breakfast bar last night. A bit clumsy of me, I admit, but it looks worse than it actually is. Your concern is appreciated but unneeded, I assure you.”

Kurusu was silent. His gaze was unwavering, like he could pluck the truth out of his skull if he stared hard enough. 

“Oh,” Futaba said quietly. Her eyes were wide and unguarded behind her glasses, something like pained sympathy flickering across her expression. Her mouth twisted, her gaze lowering as she absently ran a hand over Morgana’s fur and said, “Yeah. Breakfast bars. They really, uh, pack a _punch_ when you trip into them.”

Goro caught the meaning instantly. He felt his stomach plummet into the core of the earth. 

“No, that’s not-” he started, then stopped, his gaze darting between Futaba, Kurusu and Morgana. All of them were staring at him with varying degrees of solemnity. 

“That doesn’t look like it came from falling against something,” Kurusu said, and his tone was terrifyingly neutral, “That looks like it came from someone restraining you.”

And- oddly, Kurusu’s fingers twitched, his own hand clasping his forearm as if in remembrance of- right, he had been arrested by the police, who weren’t known to be gentle. He would know better than most, what hand-print bruises would _look like._

“...it’s just a bruise,” Goro repeated, unable to muster anything more than that. He can’t say Metaverse, he refused to go along with their assumption of something more disgustingly nefarious, all he could say was _‘it’s just a bruise, I fell over, teehee, clumsy me’._ It was chafing. Fucking awful - he wasn’t a _victim._ He _made_ victims! He got this ruining someone’s fucking _life!_ Goro was too strong and independent to _ever_ be a _victim_ of _anyone’s,_ no one would fucking _dare-_

“It’s not a _normal_ bruise,” Morgana observed suspiciously, his eyes narrowed, “It’s kinda like a bruise you get when you don’t heal up after leaving Mementos. Have you been going there without telling us?”

Oh, fuck you, cat. 

“Why would I waste my time going into Mementos by myself? Unlike some I can name, I’m not a glutton for punishment,” Goro _growled,_ tossing aside the Detective Prince persona entirely and settling for furious defensiveness instead. Maybe if he intimidated them they’d realise their pity was wasted on him, “This is just a _normal bruise_ that I got by _tripping_ like a _dumbass_ into the _fucking_ breakfast bar. That’s it. End of. _So drop it.”_

There was a taut, trembling pause - and miraculously, they did. 

“Okay,” Kurusu said, glancing at Futaba and Morgana before saying again; “Okay.”

“Okay,” Futaba repeated, far more quietly and to the floor. 

“Wait, what? We’re just _dropping it?”_ Morgana asked in disbelief, “He’s clearly _ly-”_

“We’re dropping it,” Kurusu confirmed, giving Morgana a significant look that sailed over the cat’s head, judging by the unimpressed frown he got in return.

“Um,” Futaba fidgeted as she looked back up. Her expression was edged with wan determination as she blurted, in the most obvious and clumsiest of topic changes; “So! What do people wanna do on beach day!?”

Goro stared at her, but Kurusu valiantly went with it. 

“I was thinking we’d smack watermelons,” Kurusu said, not even flinching when Goro transferred his disbelieving stare onto him, “I haven’t done it before, but I’ve seen it on TV.”

“That’s such a cliche anime thing,” Futaba said, relaxing into the topic now, “We’ve gotta do it. Uh, so, what else?”

“We have to bury Ryuji in the sand.”

“Or Inari. He’d probably get an artistic kick out of it.”

Slowly but surely, through sheer bull-headed stubbornness and the power of denial, Futaba and Kurusu singlehandedly clawed back the earlier light mood. It was a little strained around the edges, but even Morgana hesitantly joined in while Goro sat there in mute confusion. No more pitying looks were sent his way, no more probing, demanding questions, just… this.

“What…” he started, trailing off when three pairs of eyes snapped to him in abrupt focus. 

Goro didn’t understand what was happening - the common theme of the past fucking _week_ in all honestly. He had braced himself for Kurusu to become interrogative, but he hadn’t, and now all that defensive rage was coiled up without an appropriate outlet, flummoxed into docility. How was he meant to lash out when Kurusu didn’t even offer up a good target for it?

“Yeah?” Kurusu prompted, his tone entirely casual and unobtrusive. 

Goro stared at him. 

_i don’t understand you,_ he thought to himself. 

“I hate the beach,” is what he said instead. 

Futaba made a shrill noise, “Oh, no, no, no! You’re not pulling an Anakin here! If _I’m_ going, you’re going!”

“Wasn’t the beach _your_ idea?” Goro huffed, snapping his attention onto the girl, “Why subject yourself to something you’re dreading?”

“Because I wanna go to the beach as much as I don’t!” Futaba huffed back, shaking her tiny, fragile fist in his direction, “If I keep- look, I’m not trying to turn myself into a total extrovert like Ann, but. I want to- I’m not letting those rotten adults win and cowering in my room until I’m, like, ninety. I’m going to go to the beach and have fun, and maybe go somewhere else like- Akihabara, or Nagoya. No one can stop Alibaba!”

Goro blinked. Futaba had made her dramatic proclamation in a quavering, yet steel-backed voice. Even when conflicted, and clearly facilitating between outright distaste and excitement to go to the beach with her new found friend, she was determined on her cause, no matter the discomfort. All because of spite. 

_sounds like someone i know,_ a soft voice purred in the back of his mind. 

So, in response to such a heartfelt speech, he said; “You won’t reach ninety, your diet is too poor.”

Futaba squawked; _“Wha-_ my diet’s fine! Dad’s curry has all the nutrients I need!”

“Like you can talk!” Morgana rushed to Futaba’s defence, “All you have are noodles in your cupboards!”

“You can’t cook,” Kurusu reminded him. 

“I don’t appreciate being ganged up on,” Goro muttered sourly. 

But the tension was broken. What lingering uncertainty from earlier had dissipated, and the light mood wasn’t forced anymore. Goro found his shoulders relaxing from their defensive hunch, and Kurusu’s smile didn’t seem so tight. It was fine. 

Fine. 

“If we’re going to the beach,” Goro said, “Then there has to be a barbeque.” 

“Barbeque?” Kurusu blinked, “Who’ll cook?”

“You, obviously,” Goro smiled, a mimicry of his Detective Prince persona with a hint of _bitch_ beneath the glitter, “Considering you insistently invade my kitchen to cook, I thought you would leap at the chance to feed your entire team on a fun day out.”

“Barbeque does sound pretty good,” Futaba agreed. 

“Joker can make good curry, so I’m sure he can cook a great barbeque too,” Morgana piped up, the final dagger in Kurusu’s back. 

“Uh,” Kurusu’s eyes were a little wide behind his glasses, “Um, I can… try?”

“We’ll get everyone to pitch in money for the food,” Futaba said, then paused, “Except Inari. You might have to make leftovers for him to take home.”

“It’s settled then,” Goro said serenely, pleased to have caught Kurusu so flat-footed, “We’ll have barbeque on the beach.”

Kurusu sighed quietly, “Akechi, you’re an asshole.” 

“I know,” Goro replied, settling back as Futaba and Morgana began to discuss what, exactly, made a ‘good’ barbeque. He felt strange then. He couldn’t place the emotion curdling his gut.

He shook it off, and flashed Kurusu a grin 

“I’m a horrible person.” 

* * *

Two days later, the Phantom Thieves went into Mementos. 

Kurusu had accumulated a small pile of requests from the Phansite, and it was agreed they would try to get them all done in one go, to save multiple trips in the same week. Also, as the day they chose was so hot and humid, the Shadows were likely to be sluggish, easier pickings than usual. It was a logical, acceptable trip to make. 

It took every scrap of Goro’s willpower to go. 

He was sick at looking at the insides of Mementos, sick of the rattling of passing trains, the tinny, high-pitched howling and scream of the wind, the wet-gristle sound of Shadows heaving out of the gloom, the- everything. God, he was _so sick_ of Mementos. It didn’t help that today was the first time he had a break in Okumura’s relentless jobs and had been planning to spend it comatose in his bed. 

At least they had the Monabus. The demon cat was useful for something other than giving him suspicious looks or sass, at least. 

The only issue was ever since Goro joined the team, he had ended up being the driver over Kurusu. At the time this made sense; Goro was older, had more of an understanding how to drive, and liked having control over the supernatural vehicle they were trapped in. Today, however, he was willing to thrust his life into Kurusu’s reckless hands if it meant he caught a few minutes of sleep in the cat-turned-deathtrap.

“Oh, you’re not driving?” Kurusu asked, when Goro made a beeline for the front passenger seat. 

“No,” Goro said curtly. He left it at that. 

Kurusu didn’t push. The others gave him questioning looks, but didn’t push either. 

The mood inside the Monabus wasn’t awkward or tense, but there was a sense of _something_ as they drove into the deeper levels of Mementos. All of their targets were on the deepest floor that they could reach, and Sakamoto asked if they could check the door, now that their popularity had shot up after Medjed, so there was plenty of time to stew in the strange atmosphere and doze. 

“Hey, is Crow asleep?” Ann whispered after fifteen minutes of inane chatter amongst the Phantom Thieves. Goro had managed to sleep during none of it. 

“I think he’s dozing,” Kurusu said. 

“Hey, Crow,” Sakamoto said, and something jostled his seat gently. Goro remained silent, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed. 

“Yup, he’s out,” Sakamoto continued. 

“Stop pestering him,” Ann scolded, “He must be tired.”

“He seems far more fatigued than the last we saw him,” Kitagawa murmured, “Perhaps his work is…?”

Futaba made a small noise in the back of her throat. 

Kurusu spoke up quickly, “Yeah. Work. He’s busy with a lot of stuff.”

“Uh huh,” Ann sounded dubious. 

“I don’t know why you keep cov- _hey!_ Don’t steer me into the wall!” Morgana yelped. 

“Sorry,” Kurusu said insincerely. 

“Those breakdowns have been happening a lot more recently, right?” Ann said, “Maybe it’s that? Investigating the cases must be keeping him busy.”

“Oh, right, I keep forgetting he’s a detective intern whatever,” Sakamoto mumbled. 

“How do you keep forgetting that? It’s literally his _job.”_

“That’s probably it,” Futaba said quietly, “I mean, his job.”

“Are you alright, Futaba? You’re uncharacteristically quiet today.”

“I’m fine, Inari. This thing just feels like it has tank controls when Joker’s driving and it’s making me queasy.”

“Tank controls…?”

“Oh, yeah, Joker sucks at driving,” Sakamoto said blithely, “S’why I was kinda glad when Crow took over. He’s not as fast but at least he crashes less.”

“Hey, c’mon. Akira isn’t _that_ bad.” Ann.

“For real? D’you remember the first time we were down here?!”

“Argh, don’t remind me!” Morgana groaned, “I had a headache for _days_ from that!”

“Hey, hey,” Kurusu said, a hint of authority in his tone, “Quiet down. You’ll wake Crow.”

There was a muffled murmur and tittering laughter. Then: 

“Yeah, quiet down,” Sakamoto said _sotto voce,_ “You’ll wake up his bf.”

BF? Best friend? What? Goro frowned slightly, but continued to feign sleep. The conversation had moved on, though, in hushed, soft tones so not to rouse him. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the open concern directed his way. It felt like pity. Was it pity? Honest concern? This was normal for ‘friends’, right? He couldn’t tell the difference anymore. 

_they only care because you’re the heavy-hitter,_ the Shido in his head said, _without you they’d be weak and they’d know it. that’s what they care about. not_ **_you._ **

Yeah. 

Goro did manage to drift into a doze, his head rattling with conflicting feelings, and woke up an indeterminable amount of time later by a hand gently shaking his shoulder and the commotion of the Phantom Thieves debussing. 

“Mm…?” he blinked slowly as he straightened up, feeling a twinge in his neck and a throbbing ache in his gut. Kurusu’s hand didn’t move from his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“You good?” Kurusu asked, his gaze too concerned and scrutinising to be Joker, “We’re at our first target.”

“I’m good,” Goro muttered, shrugging Kurusu’s hand off and wrenching the Monabus door open, “Stop treating me like an invalid.”

Kurusu didn’t reply, and Goro hopped out of the Monabus. A moment later, Morgana was a monster cat once more, and the group was gathered in front of the portal leading to the first target to divvy up jobs. 

“Okay, we’re hitting six targets today,” Joker said, his confidant, swaggering bravado pulled around him like a comfortable cloak. There was no hint of the uncertain Kurusu in the slight cant of his hips, or in his nimble fingers idly spinning his knife, “They’re all on the same floor, which is very nice of them, so we’ll take them out consecutively. It’s going to be a bit of a push, but I’m confident we can achieve it.” 

Joker stopped spinning the knife, and pointed it at Oracle who straightened up into attention, “This is also an opportunity to let Oracle settle into her role, so pay attention to her advice. Mona, you’re happy to hitch a ride in her UFO to teach her the navigation stuff, right?”

“Of course!” Mona puffed his chest out proudly, “Don’t worry, Oracle, I’ll teach you the ropes.” 

Oracle clasped her hands in front of her and gave Mona an exaggerated bow, “Teach me your wisdom, Mona-sensei.” 

“Mona-sensei,” the cat repeated, and preened, “Hehe, I like the sound of that.”

“You’ll give him a fathead if you keep that up, Oracle,” Skull drawled mockingly, “Well, an even fatter one, I mean.”

“Hey! Who’re you calling a _fathead?”_

“Guys,” Joker said. He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone had everyone falling in line, “Enough. Let’s focus, okay?”

 _he’s improved,_ Goro observed silently, _he’s a lot more assertive now._

“Sorry, Joker,” Skull said, and Mona muttered something that might’ve been _‘sorry’_ or _‘skull started it’._

Joker moved on, “The main group will be me, Crow, Panther and Fox. Mona, you’ll be with Oracle as we said before, and Skull, I want you to act mostly in defence of anyone who gets downed or knocked out, okay? I’m trusting you to bail them out if they need to. This also means you’re on item duty. You’ve got full control over the inventory.”

Skull sketched out a sloppy salute, “You can count on me, Joker.” 

“It’s going to be a fast pace,” Joker warned them, and flashed them a cocky grin, “We’ll steamroll them and be done within an hour. Everyone happy about what’s happening?”

Everyone gave the affirmative. 

“Let’s go then!”

* * *

Goro missed fighting with the Phantom Thieves. 

Even if they weren’t as powerful as him individually, together they acted as a well-oiled machine that covered up any weaknesses or holes in Goro’s defence. Especially today, where he was sluggish, aching and definitely not in peak condition. The amount of times he almost got knocked down if it weren’t for Joker or Fox’s quick reflexes was _embarrassing._

It should’ve been commented on. There should’ve been questions, or at least irritation at his sloppy mistakes and less than stellar performance. He was being a _hindrance,_ as much as he could be one in this group of weaklings, but everyone merely picked up his considerable slack, focused a little more on him for the healing, and said nothing. 

Did they not care? Or did they and they knew he wouldn’t appreciate the scrutiny? Was it consideration or pity or apathy? Goro had to grit his teeth against launching those angry demands at his teammates, and vented his confused frustration on their targets in an attempt to make up for his failure. It was bad enough he was fucking up his jobs for Shido, he _can’t_ fuck up for the Phantom Thieves too. 

He was strong. Invincible. He can’t fuck up. He _can’t fuck up!_

It was this frantic, aggressive mantra that powered him through the last fight. It was a Dakini Shadow, and, typical of their luck, the strongest of the bunch - _dangerously_ strong. Within the opening salvo of the fight, the Shadow had caught Fox off guard with a flurry of rapid strikes that could have killed him if Skull hadn’t intervened part-way through. It meant Fox was out of the fight, Skull was running protection on the downed party member, and Panther was sticking him back together - leaving Joker and Goro as the only ones facing the Shadow down. 

If it had been just Goro, Loki would’ve carved the Dakini up into pulp with little difficulty. She was _strong,_ but she wasn’t _Loki_ strong. As it was, he was stuck with Robin Hood, and Robin Hood was not good at boosting his adrenaline and bloodthirst to levels where he was utterly immune to pain and fatigue. Robin Hood did not numb him to everything and anything. Robin Hood cared too much about too many things. 

Robin Hood was weak. 

He grunted when he caught a two-sword strike that would’ve decapitated him, both hands gripping the hilt of his blade as he _barely_ shoved the Shadow back. His core muscles were screaming, abdominals spasming as his injury flared up, his body pushed to the very limits but - _strong, invincible, better, can’t fuck up, can’t fuck up_ \- he stamped it down, panting harshly as he took the moment to backstep, to get some breathing room-

The Dakini was already lunging forwards again, barely phased by his weak push, her blades raised in vicious retaliation - only to recoil when a wash of flame crashed into her. The Shadow wailed and retreated, Joker appearing at Goro’s side close enough that their shoulders touched. 

“You good?” Joker asked him, his gaze fixed on the Shadow. 

Goro took two quick breaths and said, “Yes.” 

He was in agony. He gripped his sword tighter to hide the tremble in his hands.

 _“That hit a weakness!”_ Oracle’s voice thrummed through their minds. Goro still wasn’t used to the bizarre telepathy Futaba’s Persona had. It was in a whole other league than that vague sixth sense Robin Hood gifted him. According to her, it not only allowed her to maintain psychic communications with the rest of the party, she also had a precognitive knowledge of everyone’s vitals, status and Persona stats whilst in Navigator mode. 

Everyone, including Goro. 

_can she sense loki?_ He wondered detachedly as he watched the Dakini come swinging in for more, her skin blackened with blistering burns and her face twisted into a demonic snarl, _can she sense there’s something wrong with me?_

“Crow!” Joker barked.

The Dakini’s blades swung down with crushing force, and Goro acted in tandem with Joker. He darted to the left, Joker to the right, and the blades smashed harmlessly into the ground where they both had been. 

The Shadow stalled, unsure of which threat to lash out first - and the hesitation cost her. 

_“Hell Biker!”_

_“Robin Hood!”_

Agilao and Eiga - scorching flames combined with the corrosive curse morphed into twisted, blackened flames that consumed the Shadow. It wailed and howled, flailing away from them, her blades clattering to the floor harmlessly. Goro watched as her demonic form melted away into something more human, harmless, the flames dying into glittering embers as the Dakini became a crying, cringing woman, her yellow eyes wide in pained fear. 

Harmless. Vulnerable. Easy prey. 

Joker approached her. His dagger was sheathed, and his crimson-clad hand was extended calmingly, accepting and understanding despite the fact she had been trying to murder them less than five seconds ago. Goro watched him, watched the Shadow, and didn’t know how Joker could do this so earnestly. 

How naive - _selfless_ -

A wash of healing magic swept over him, and Goro flinched in surprise, his pain dulling into a muted throb. 

“Crow! Are you okay?” Panther rushed up to him, looking more than a little harried. Her mask was pushed up slightly, loose strands of blonde hair clinging to her sweaty face, “I’m sorry, Fox was-”

“I’m fine,” he said, hitching up a smile. The Diarama had numbed the pain, that was more than enough. He knew from experience that it wouldn’t do much for his stomach injury - Wakaba’s research had taught him that injuries brought in from the real world couldn’t be healed in the Cognitive one. A shame, really, but an understandable limitation. 

“I’m fine,” he said again, when Panther squinted suspiciously at him. 

“If you’re sure,” she said carefully, “It’s just- you’re looking a bit peaky. You sure you’re good?” 

“I’m just tired,” Goro said, “Work is picking up, and… well, it is my final year in school as well. It’s a bit stressful.”

“...yeah,” Panther looked like she was going to say more. Thankfully she dropped it, “We should totally do another movie night to let you chill out, then. Not horror! I learned my lesson. I got some really interesting nature documentaries instead.” 

Goro blinked. That movie night hadn’t been a one off then? “Ah, sure?”

“Great!” Panther flashed him a wide, genuine grin, “I’m looking forward to it!” 

They were all corralled back into the Monabus not long after that. Their noble cause was completed, six hearts had been successfully stolen, and while things had gotten a bit dicey near the end, the flawless teamwork between Crow and Joker saved the day yet again. You should all be proud, Joker had said before they left Mementos, flashing them all with a warm, bright grin that made Goro perk up happily - before he realised _who_ was giving him praise and he pretended not to care. 

Kurusu was too generous in his compliments. He praised the smallest successes, and forgave the clumsiest of failures. He had waved away Kitagawa’s apologies for his misstep that ended up with him taken out of the fight, and just told him that he was glad he was okay. Glad he was okay. If it had been Shido, he would’ve stomped Goro’s pride flat for such a stupid mistake. Stupid mistakes were for weak-willed fools. 

But, everyone made mistakes, didn’t they? If one forgave and learned from such things… 

No, what was he thinking? Kurusu was too soft to be an effective leader. That was all. 

Still, it had been nice to be complimented in such an earnest, straightforward manner. Goro _had_ worked hard, and _did_ do well, and to be recognised as such without it being accompanied by a backhanded compliment or a surprise scolding for something out of his control was… nice. It was nice. This was nice. 

Dangerously nice. 

They left Mementos, and everyone went their separate ways - Kitagawa accompanying Futaba home on the promise of free food. Goro lingered - as did Kurusu and Morgana. 

“Thanks, Akechi,” Kurusu said, “You really saved us back there.”

Goro waved the gratitude aside, fighting down the urge to smile at the praise, “If I recall, it was _both_ of us who saved the day back there.”

Kurusu laughed quietly, “Yeah. We make a good team, huh?”

Goro eyed him. Kurusu was fidgeting with his fringe, a shy smile in place. It was hard to imagine him with Joker’s braggadocio when he acted so… meek and gentle like this. 

“We do,” Goro agreed quietly. He couldn’t deny that there was a certain sort of synergy between him and Kurusu when in the midst of battle. They didn’t even have to talk to execute plans together. They just _knew._

Morgana was strangely quiet, hidden inside the Monabag. Goro wondered if he was giving them some semblance of privacy. 

“Yeah,” Kurusu said. He lowered his hand from his fringe, stuffing them into his pockets instead as he said, too casually, “So, you know- you know you can trust me, right? With anything. I’ll listen. No matter what it is, I’ll listen.”

Goro stared at him.

“With ‘anything’ is a bold claim,” he said levelly.

“Bold but true,” Kurusu said stubbornly.

For a brief moment, Goro entertained the idea of testing him on that. _‘I am Black Mask’,_ he would say, _‘I’m the one committing the Mental Shutdowns and Psychotic Breakdowns. I also killed Futaba’s mother ’,_ and Kurusu’s expression would turn into one of disgust and anger, and that fragile, barely there trust would be crushed underfoot before it could even draw breath. 

Kurusu will hate him. The Phantom Thieves will hate him.

Goro’s gaze lowered at that thought. 

Yes. They would hate him. 

“...thank you for the offer,” he said, his tone distant and flat even to him, “I will keep it in mind.”

Kurusu’s shoulders slumped, “Akechi…”

“I have to go,” Goro said, turning away from him.

He fled. It was at a walking pace, but he fled from Kurusu and his promise and his _you can trust me with anything_ and how it was such a blatant, careless lie. A lie. A _lie._

Yet all he could think, as he returned to his too quiet, too empty apartment was: _but what if it wasn’t? what if…_

He didn’t dare finish the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every time pana does a light hearted chapter with penguin sex dreams i bring the 'goro akechi is mentally imploding and on the verge of a cataclysmic mental breakdown' which is such a mood whiplash fhfhdh 
> 
> don't worry though, it's all for something. at least goro is finally starting to get on the same page as akira regarding this whole crush thing, even if he is largely oblivious to his own feelings re: akira atm. he's like "hmm i feel comfortable and safe around him, and i find his confused expressions cute............... clearly i find him annoying and want him out of my life". never change goro


	13. AKIRA VII: Distraction

On the night of his arrest, Akira had been walking home from a friend’s house.

Then again, maybe _friend_ was more of a relative term that didn’t really apply so much in this case. He and Mei had never been that close, but they’d been study partners and Akira liked them well enough. They always ate lunch together at school, did their homework together often, and spent generally enough time together for Akira to at least consider them one of his few friends. Of course, that opinion changed somewhat when, after his arrest, they along with his other friends decided it would be for the best if they stopped talking. Akira didn’t blame them, having a friend with a criminal record wasn’t exactly something that helped with a person’s reputation, and they’d always been more of the reputable sort. But then again, Akira could argue that he hadn’t been expecting to end up with a criminal record that night either. That was just…what happened.

Yet, maybe that wasn’t exactly a fair opinion either, because like it or not, Akira had made a choice that night. He’d seen the drunk man and the panicking woman, and he’d known what he should have done- what his parents would have wanted him to do.

_Stay quiet._

As he turned the street corner, through the shadows of the street, Akira caught sight of the man’s expensive looking suit. And as his drunken voice carried over across the street, it embodied that same pompous air as the wealthiest and most prominent of business associates his parents would try to impress.

_Don’t be an embarrassment._

Two rules, that’s all he had to follow. Rich and entitled people did horrible things all the time, this was nothing new. Just another secret that would be whispered across the walls at parties, something the men would laugh about while their wives smiled politely and complimented the wine in the background. Akira could walk right past them, a ghost in the night. He could go home. Return to his life pretending that he hadn’t seen anything. After all, it was none of his business what happened between adults.

Except...the woman was in danger and clearly terrified, begging for the man to stop as he tried to force her to get into his car. If Akira didn’t intervene, she’d be trapped. Doomed to suffer the actions of the man who held her captive. It...wasn’t something that Akira could just ignore, even for as much as he knew he was supposed to.

And so, that was his choice. When he ran up to the two of them, that was what guided him. He didn’t have a plan, nothing other than somehow finding a way to get the woman away safely. Ideally, he’d then be able to run off before facing consequences.

Of course, that wasn’t what happened.

_“I-I’ll call the police.”_

_“Heh, call them if you want! The police are my bitches. They’re not gonna take you seriously.”_

_“No...Stop!”_

The night gets hard to remember sometimes. Too fragmented in places, jumbled voices and shadowed faces. But one thing he does remember is the sound of police sirens in the distance, something that had seemed like such a hopeful sound at the time.

He’d been so naive back then.

_“Someone called the cops, huh? Get in the car! Incompetent fools like you just need to shut your mouths and follow where I steer this country!”_

The drunk man was a persistent asshole. Akira knew that at this rate, by the time the cops showed up, he’d already have the woman in the car with him. All the while, the police would be none the wiser as to what occurred here.

_Stay quiet. Don’t be an embarrassment._

_“Get in the car!”_

_Will you really do nothing?_

...He had to do something.

Akira didn’t _intend_ to push the drunk guy, it kind of just happened, as was a common pattern with most things in Akira’s life. More of a reflex reaction, a slight nudge that wouldn’t have been enough to knock a child off their feet. But because he’s as drunk as he is, of course the man instantly topples face-first onto the sidewalk, Akira standing there watching wide-eyed from above.

He’d known that nothing was going to go well for him from that moment on. The guy was clearly _somebody_ , and Akira was just some lowly teenager. He’d get blamed for this somehow.

He really hated being right sometimes.

_“Damn brat, I’ll sue!”_

The words echoed in the quiet of the night, and as the man and the woman argued, all Akira could think about was how upset his parents were going to be with him when they inevitably found out about this. They’d probably disown him, throw him out on the streets. Their reputation would be in shambles if any of their business associates were to find out their son had gotten involved in a situation like this. Akira was supposed to have rescued the woman and bolted, but apparently he couldn’t even manage that without screwing up. This was never supposed to have happened.

And yet…through the fear, there was a low simmering anger burning deep within his gut. Akira has never forgotten the feeling of it, the way it called for him to step forward and give the man a _real_ reason to sue.

He didn’t though, instead he reigned the feeling in, even when the next words left the man’s mouth.

 _“Hey. Make this statement to the cops,”_ he told the woman. _“‘This kid suddenly attacked me.’ Got it? If you even try to say anything else, you know what’ll happen to you, right?”_

...He’d mostly fallen on his own, Akira had hardly done anything. And yet, of course, that didn’t matter. It never mattered.

When the cops finally showed up, the woman told them exactly what the man had told her to say.

_“That young man suddenly attacked him...He shoved this gentleman to the ground.”_

She sounded meek when she said it, shy in a way that would have obviously raised a few questions had Akira been the one interrogating her. But of course he wasn’t, because he was just a kid. They were the adults.

So, unsurprisingly, the cops didn’t even take a moment to probe further. Instead they took her quiet words at face value before focusing their attention on Akira, in all his gangly sixteen-year-old glory.

They sure didn’t _treat_ him like a sixteen-year-old when it came to physically restraining him however. He was grabbed roughly by the both of them, one of them gripping his arm slightly harder than the other. He winced, but didn’t voice a word of complaint when his arms were yanked harshly together so they could cuff him.

He remembers looking to the woman for help, silently pleading for her to retract her statement or do _something_. Anything.

The woman never even met his eyes.

He was still looking at her in stunned betrayal as the one officer harshly grabbed his arm and shoved him into the police car. The door slammed behind him, and Akira tried not to instinctively cower on the seat.

 _This was fine._ He _was fine._

Repeating the two phrases like a mantra, his mind didn’t quiet until he was being dragged out of the car, the officer’s hand once again far too tight around his already sore arm. He let out a pained noise before he could bite down on it, but all he earned was an annoyed look and an even harsher yank on his arm.

_“Come on, let’s move it.”_

They took all his possessions, his wallet, phone and keys, and then made him sign his name on a sheet that he never got a chance to read.

It was very shortly after that when they finally threw him inside a large holding cell already occupied with several much older men. And it occurred to him then, that they’d never even bothered to ask his age.

_That’s because you assaulted someone._

_But I didn’t._

_You should have._

_That would have been wrong._

_And this is right?_

He curled in further in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible on the edge of the bench seat he’d taken for himself at the farthest corner of the cell. The other men all looked at him oddly for an uncomfortable amount of time, before they finally went back to talking loudly and drunkenly with each other. When Akira went to tighten his arms around himself, the sudden pressure against his forearm caused a deep throbbing pain, and he looked down to see the first signs of a bruise forming, the skin darkening around his wrist in stripes from where the officer had grabbed him earlier.

He knew that he’d be incredibly lucky to get out of there anytime soon. In time, they’d eventually let him have his one phone-call, and Akira wasn’t confident that anyone would be home when they did. His dad was away on another business trip, and his mom was…somewhere, doing something important. Probably. Even if he got in touch with her, he knew there was a chance that she’d be upset enough to make him wait longer to be released on purpose. Kind of like when he did something she didn’t like and she’d tell him to stay in his room until she could stand to look at him again.

It was fine.

However, it was on that night that he decided that he _really_ hated jail cells, even if he probably belonged in one anyway.

Without his phone, he instead judged the passing of time by the steady darkening of his bruise. It didn’t look all that much like a handprint, but he knew it’d probably be better that way. While the men sharing the cell with him shoved each other drunkenly and laughed, Akira quietly traced the shadow of his injury.

Because really, what else was there for him to do?

***

The bruise is long faded now, but as the memories rise to the surface of his mind, he finds himself tracing the invisible lines of it. He’d seen one much the same only a few days ago, dark and unmistakable against Akechi’s pale skin. Considering he was a detective, Akira had a stark reason to believe that a cop hadn’t given that to Akechi in the way Akira had gotten his. Still, there were many ways that a person could get a hand-shaped bruise on their arm, and none of them were particularly good causes. Akechi was a celebrity, so the best-case scenario was that it was from a crazed fan who’d gotten a bit too enthusiastic, but if that was the case then why hadn’t Akechi just told him as much? He’d gotten way too defensive over it, _panicked_ even, with the detective prince persona coming out full force.

So, Akira’s next thought jumps to the expensive bottle of whiskey Akechi had said he’d gotten from his _father_. If all of Akira’s assumptions about Akechi’s relationship with the man were correct, then who was to say that the piece of shit wasn’t also physically abusive? Unless…the bottle of alcohol hadn’t been from his father and instead had been from someone else, some other man-

Akira bites down hard on his lip and doesn’t allow himself to finish that thought.

 _“Or it could be from the Metaverse,”_ Morgana had said after Akira had told the simplified version of why he and Futaba were so worried about it. _“He could be the Black Mask, Akira. I feel like you keep forgetting that.”_

Akira hadn’t forgotten. There were just…other more concerning explanations at the moment.

 _More concerning than murder?_ A voice in his head asks, sounding exactly like Morgana.

Akira breathes out a sigh.

“Akira, are you okay?”

He raises his head to see Ann gazing at him in clear concern from her spot across the table. In all honesty, he’d almost entirely forgotten she was there. Which probably wasn’t ideal considering he was the one who invited her out to the diner in the first place.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lies with his best attempt at a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Judging by the look Ann gives him, she’s not buying it.

“Well,” she says, “you’ve been staring down at your arm for the past five minutes and your um... _kids_? are currently antagonizing the waiter.”

 _Oh_. Right.

Akira turns his attention to said ‘ _kids_ ’ who were occupying the booth seat behind him. He’d invited Caroline and Justine to the diner with them in a very valiant attempt to save time today so that he’d still have time to visit Ohya at the Crossroads tonight. He had a feeling that the diner staff would be a lot more welcoming to two children in their establishment than Lala would be in hers.

Only, as he takes in the sight before him, he finds he might have been a little... _optimistic_ in that assumption.

“We demand that you procure us more of the tiny sweet triangle!” Caroline orders the poor waiter who looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

“I don’t know what that means!” He tells them for what’s probably the upteenth time, to no avail.

“The cake,” Akira quickly cuts in. “They’re asking for cake.” The waiter looks at him in disbelief and Akira offers him a smile as if this was all completely normal. “The strawberry shortcake please.”

With a very dazed nod, the waiter turns and heads back behind the counter.

“It’s about time!” Justine yells a little too loudly, Akira catching a very noticeable flinch from the hastily retreating waiter.

“To think that a human who worked here would be so unsure of things,” Caroline says, shaking her head as if she’s a disappointed middle-aged woman and not an apparent nine-year-old.

Turning back to Ann, he’s met with a look that’s a cross between surprise and open concern.

“Uh, who are they again?”

Akira hesitates. It’s not as if he could tell her that they were two supernatural beings from a room beyond a blue door that only he was able to see. Well he supposes he _could_ , there was a chance that she would believe him, considering visiting the Metaverse had a tendency to completely obliterate all suspension of disbelief. But if Akira was being entirely honest, trying to explain the Velvet Room and how it for _some reason_ doubled as a prison and execution room sounded like a very exhausting prospect that he was far too tired for.

“I babysit,” he tells her simply instead with a shrug.

“Right…” she says in a way that tells him that she believes that excuse about as much as she should. “Anyway, Akira, what’s going on with you?” Ann continues, dropping the topic twins for another one he’d equally prefer to avoid. “I mean it’s not that I don’t like spending time with you, but you invited me out here and you’ve hardly said anything.”

Akira is ready to defend himself, only to frown down at his half eaten matcha swiss roll instead when he realizes that he can’t actually do that. Ann had arrived and he’d listened to her talk about Shiho for a bit, and after that he’d gotten lost in his own head again.

“Yeah, that’s been a habit of his lately,” Morgana the Great Betrayer says, shooting him a look from where he’s peeking out of the Mona-bag on the seat next to him. It might have been true, but he didn’t have to come out and say it in front of Ann. It looked as if she was _still_ the favorite.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Ann asks, looking between the two of them. Akira hesitates, not wanting to tell her the full truth of his activities over the past few days. She’d probably worry and really that was unnecessary, he was doing just _fine_. He was at the very least finally catching up with the far too many messages from people asking for his help that he’d been very politely ignoring over the past month or so.

“I’ve been...keeping busy the past few days,” he settles on telling her after a moment.

Of course, his traitorous suck-up of a cat has other ideas.

“He’s been running around all of Tokyo trying to spend time with every person he’s ever so much as talked to,” Morgana tells her with the voice of a feline who has been through hell and back in his little cat-bag. Akira finds himself a little insulted. “All I’m doing is watching it happen and even I’m exhausted.”

“Akira?” Ann asks, turning to him expectantly.

He flinches under the weight of her stare, dropping his gaze and idly prodding at his matcha roll with his chopsticks.

“It’s been a while since I’ve spent time with a lot of you.” An understatement. “I’ve been trying to fix that.”

That last part at least contained some semblance of the truth. It would be more correct to say that Akira was trying to fix _things_. He’d successfully ruined things with Akechi, so what else was there to do besides try to pick up the broken fragments of his life and try to glue them back together the best that he could? And by that, he absolutely meant his bonds with the people who weren’t in his immediate friend group who he’d made deals with and then ghosted for the better half of a month. In Akira’s defense, he’d been...busy.

Unfortunately, it’d apparently gotten so bad that even Igor had brought it up the last time he was in the Velvet Room fusing personas. In that deep creepy voice of his, he professed his _concern_ over Akira’s rehabilitation and the development of his bonds.

In short, Igor isn’t happy with him. It seems like no one was anymore.

So, in the past three days, Akira had been running around all of Tokyo with a list of tasks and responsibilities a novel-length long. He’s helped Yusuke with his latest art piece, helped Ryuji with his track team issues, talked to Mishima about the fansite, played Shogi with Hifumi, acted as Takemi’s labrat, helped old man Yoshida with his speech, spent time with Chihaya as she struggled with her fortune-telling Ponzi scheme, and may or may not have decided to help a possible Yakuza member at his model gun shop.

Akira was... _tired_. But it was fine, they all needed help and Akira needed…

He frowns down at his half-eaten roll, finding himself not really hungry anymore.

“Yeah, okay,” Ann finally sighs, sounding about as tired as Akira feels. “You’re really sure there’s no other reason?”

“Akechi,” Morgana cuts in before Akira can properly avoid that line of questioning. “It’s always Akechi.”

Akira shoots him a very betrayed look. “It’s not _always_ Akechi.”

Morgana doesn’t seem amused as he stares straight back at him. “Then why did you only start with all this after Akechi gave you that really creepy answer and then walked away?”

The familiar feeling heartache grips at his chest, because his heart was a stupid and useless little organ that had attached itself to Akechi like a leech and was now very upset that Akira was attempting to pry it back off.

 _“So you know- you know you can trust me, right?”_ Akira had told Akechi like an idiot with the world’s worst crush. _“With anything. I’ll listen. No matter what it is, I’ll listen.”_

And Akechi had _stared_. It was a warning sign and Akira should have _known_ to stop pushing.

 _“With ‘anything’ is a bold claim,”_ he’d said. Warning sign number two.

 _“Bold but true,”_ Akira had said, pushing forward anyway, like a stubborn ass. The final nail in the coffin.

 _“...thank you for the offer,”_ Akechi responded, sounding _dead_ inside. Devoid of emotion in a way Akira had never heard him before. He’d have found it unsettling if Akira wasn’t too busy dealing with the mountain of dread consuming his every thought. He’d fucked up. _“I will keep it in mind,”_ Akechi finished.

And then he fled.

Akira was well aware that he’d successfully ruined everything simply because he could apparently never leave well-enough alone and always had to try to _push_ things into becoming more than they were. Akechi had been slowly opening up, and Akira had been making progress with him, but then the bruise had shaken his vow of patience and he’d _pushed_ out of worry.

In summary, this was all his stupid heart’s fault and now he wishes that it would leave him alone instead of constantly trying to ruin his day.

“Wait,” Ann cuts into his thoughts, looking between him and Morgana. “What happened between you and Goro?”

Akira ignores the bitter feeling he gets at her easy use of his first name. It’s not like it mattered now anyway, maybe it was a good thing that Akechi had people other than Akira that he could depend on.

“I’m an idiot and now he hates me,” Akira says dejectedly, smashing more of the food on his plate with his chopsticks. .

“Here we go again,” Morgana says with a very dramatic feline equivalent of a sigh. Ann meanwhile, just gives him a patient look.

“Akira, I _highly_ doubt that Goro hates you.”

Akira frowns down at his plate and doesn’t answer, watching as the green matcha roll flattens into a sad little pile under the force of his prodding.

“Here’s your uh square,” he hears from behind him as the waiter returns to the twin’s table. “And I also brought you a fork since it seemed like you were having some trouble with your chopsticks.” He pauses and then hastily adds, “Not that I’m saying you can’t use them but-”

“Stop talking!” Justine demands. “We will accept your offering.”

“...Offering?” The waiter asks, voice small.

“Hey, this one has one less berry than the other one!” Justine points out, ignoring his question. “What is the meaning of this!?”

“My deepest apologies!” The waiter says, mid-retreat from the table. “Please let me get you another one miss!”

“Well, that’s more like it,” Justine says, sounding satisfied.

“This is the type of service I’d expect from such an esteemed establishment,” Caroline agrees.

It was actually a very inexpensive diner, but they didn’t need to know that. Akira sends a silent apology to the waiter for making his casual day at work a private hell, but it’s not as if Akira had control over the twins even on a good day. Sure, he could be trying to occupy them a bit more, but it was probably fine. They hadn’t done anything _too_ bad...yet.

“Did you want to tell me what happened?” Ann finally prods him, and when he looks up from his plate and takes in her kind and supportive expression, his willpower crumbles. _Sometimes, talking to people helps_ , he reminds himself. He still wouldn’t mention anything that would betray Akechi’s trust, but it _would_ be nice to talk to her a little about what happened.

“Akechi has been having a rough time and it’s hard to get him to...open up about things.” Understatement of the century, not that Akira was much better with that. Still, his point stood. “So, after we left Mementos the other day, I told him I’d be willing to talk to him about _anything_ , and I think I pushed him too hard. I upset him.”

Ann doesn’t say anything for a minute, looking as if she was waiting for him to continue, and only speaking when it’s clear that he’s not going to.

“So you what, offered to be there for him?” She asks, tone dry. “And now you think he hates you?”

“You didn’t _see_ his reaction, Ann,” Akira says, practically pleading for her to understand. Akira was _not_ just being dramatic. Akira did not _overreact_. “He was _fine_ and then it was like he completely shut down.”

“Yeah, it was pretty creepy actually,” Mona adds in unnecessarily and Akira flicks him over the ear. “Ow, hey!”

Ignoring him, Akira’s attention is drawn to the waiter returning to the twin’s table with what looks like a new slice of cake that’s practically overflowing with strawberries. Akira’s not sure where he got them all from, but he admires his effort.

“This is satisfactory,” Caroline says, and the relief radiating off the waiter is practically palpable.

“You’re free to go for now,” Justine adds.

“Thank you!” The waiter says with a bow, as if he’s just won some kind of competition. “Thank you so much!”

“Have you tried talking to him?” Ann asks Akira as the waiter heads back behind the counter and he turns his full attention back on her. “To Goro, I mean.”

“No,” he admits, a bit hesitantly. He knows it doesn’t sound great, but in his defense, he didn’t think Akechi _wanted_ to talk to him. “I haven’t even brought him breakfast.”

He still felt guilty about that. It’s not as if Akechi couldn’t survive without him bringing him food every morning, he’d clearly survived a long time without his help. But that didn’t stop Akira from worrying, especially now that he wanted to make sure Akechi wasn’t drinking himself into an early grave or...getting hurt in another way. He’d tried to get Morgana to go check on him a few times, but he always refused. So, Akira was essentially stuck, thinking that going out and inserting himself in Akechi’s life if he wasn’t wanted might only make things worse.

“You’ve been bringing him breakfast?!” Ann says in response to his comment, her eyes wide. “Since when?”

Akira shrugs. “About a week ago? All he has in his cabinets are noodles, Ann!” He quickly defends himself, needing her to share his horror. He pauses then, thinking, before he subtly adds, “Actually would you mind bringing him breakfast tomorrow? He likes scrambled eggs, but he prefers it when they’re fluffy so you have to add milk-”

“Oh my god.”

“What?” Akira asks her, not understanding why she felt the need to interrupt his very important instructions. Akechi always left all of the more crumbly eggs at the bottom of his bowl, but seemed to prioritize the big fluffy ones. Akira was a very observant chef, it’s the same way he learned how to make Akechi’s perfect blend of coffee.

“Akira, that’s so domestic,” she says in a gleeful way that has Akira wondering how it was that he’d ever been frustrated with her. Sure she gets to use Akechi’s first name, and sure they had their movie nights, but that was just Ann trying to be a good friend. Just like she tried to be for everyone.

He gives her a small smile tinged with melancholy. “I don’t think he sees it that way.”

Honestly, Akira’s not even sure if Akechi has ever had a romantic thought in his life. He never expressed any interest in either sex for as much as Akira has been trying to pay attention. Akira had even flat out asked him on a date and he’d turned it into a _team-bonding experience_. Akechi had to either be messing with him, or he was honestly _that_ oblivious to the fact that Akira would very much like to date him.

“Lady Ann,” Morgana says, lifting his head proudly from the bag, “they also touch each other a lot.”

Akira nearly chokes on his own saliva.

“We do not,” he tells Morgana while flicking him over the ear again, his effort met with a swat of a paw. “And don’t say it like that.”

“Then why are you always petting his knee?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Ann says in response to Morgana’s very misguided assertion. Akira didn’t _pet_ Akechi’s knee, he just...massaged it. They were two entirely different things.

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter now,” he says quickly, trying to get this conversation back onto the topic that really matters. “He probably never wants to see me again.”

Ann sighs and looks at him with a cross between pity and exasperation.

“Akira, for a smart guy, you’re _really_ dumb.”

Akira frowns down at his crushed matcha roll, trying to figure out what she means by that, while he picks up a few facets of conversation coming from the children’s table behind him.

“Do you believe that these are metal because they also double as weapons?” Caroline asks, probably in reference to the fork they’d been given.

“Oh! I get it! In case anyone tries to steal your food!” says Justine.

“Akira you can’t keep going like this,” Ann tells him when it becomes clear he has nothing to add. “You’re clearly trying to see as many people as possible as a way to distract yourself from Goro and it can’t be good for your health. You need to go see him.”

Sometimes, Akira hated when people made sense. While keeping himself busy was in fact a way to distract himself from thinking about Akechi, she didn’t have to come out and say it like that. Besides, it did also have the added benefit of stopping him from doing something incredibly stupid like showing up at his door with a month's supply of avocados and eggs, along with a note containing a very well-written apology. He did actually write out an apology note the night before he decided to fill up his schedule with as many plans as possible. That note would probably never see the light of day, but still, he wrote it.

“I will see him. At our next team meeting,” Akira tells her like a functioning individual.

She gives him a long-suffering sigh in response. “Goro and I are supposed to have movie-night tomorrow and I’m taking you with me.”

Ann says it in a way that tells him she’s already decided and there’s no way he’s getting out of it unless he finds a way to skip town. Still, he shakes his head anyway. He was managing things just fine on his own.

“Ann, really that’s not- _fuck!_ ”

His attempt at saying just how fine he’s doing, is of course, interrupted by a sudden and highly intense pain in his shoulder. Turning his head, he realizes that’s likely due to the fact there’s now a fork sticking out of it.

“See, it does work as a weapon, Caroline!” Justine calls to her sister, clearly very proud of herself for figuring this out. Looking back at him, she frowns. “Inmate you sure are bleeding a lot. Heal yourself!”

Far too tired and in pain to explain to her about how that wasn’t how it worked here, he instead turns to look at Ann who’s staring wide-eyed at the eating utensil protruding from his skin. 

“Okay,” Akira says to her, still a little in shock himself. “I think you might have a point.”

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to head back and change into your school uniform or something?”

Akira looks over at Ann and notices her once again dubiously eyeing his choice of fashion for the day. And yeah, maybe a scarf wasn’t the most practical of things for him to wear, but his... _stab wound_ happened to be located near the junction between his neck and shoulder, and he just so happened to not own any shirts with collars high enough to cover it outside of his school uniform. Which, while he had considered wearing it, he ultimately decided that he didn’t really want to spend movie night at Goro Akechi’s apartment in his Shujin uniform.

“No,” he says to Ann, shaking his head. “He’d ask questions.”

She raises a brow at him.

“And he’s not going to ask questions about you wearing a scarf in the middle of summer?”

Akira smiles weakly. “It’s a fashion statement?”

“Akira,” Ann sighs, once again looking very tired. “Why don’t you want him to see the bandage?”

“It’s actually not bandaged.”

“Akira _what_?”

He shrugs. “Takemi put this weird gel on it and said I needed to let the air get to it.” Whether or not the medicine she used was strictly legal or not, Akira wasn’t really sure, but it was probably fine either way. It seemed to do a pretty great job since the wound hadn’t opened up again, and all that was left was four tiny scabbed over holes and a very ugly looking bruise despite the fact that it’d only been a little over a day since he got it.

“Does that include scarves?” Ann asks, and Akira hesitates because he wasn’t really too sure about that. It’s not as if he asked.

“Scarves have...air holes,” he settles on saying intelligently. It doesn’t occur to him until after he says it that ‘breathability’ would have probably been a better term to use, but he said what he said and it was too late to turn back now.

“Oh my god,” Ann groans, increasing her pace to walk ahead of him. “I swear sometimes it’s impossible to talk to you.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Morgana, the Great Traitor, calls from his bag.

With a sigh, Akira walks behind Ann as if he’s walking to his execution. There’s a buzz of nervous energy beneath his skin while they step into the elevator of Akechi’s apartment complex. There’s a part of him that wonders if Akechi will open the door, take one look at him, and then promptly slam it in his face. Or maybe the detective prince persona would come out again permanently, and it’d hurt so much to see after everything that Akira would wish he’d never come at all.

Akira has been considering apologizing, and still finds the thought tempting as he and Ann step off the elevator and get closer and closer to Akechi’s apartment. It seems like the most logical of options, an innate reaction for whenever he felt he messed up badly. But after he’d talked to Futaba at Leblanc about it the day after, she’d told him that probably wouldn’t be a good idea, and he trusted her opinion on the matter.

 _“If it is what we’re both thinking...that’s not something that’s easy to talk about,”_ she’d said while stirring her plate of curry with a downcast expression. _“It’s probably better if you don’t bring it up again.”_

So, Akira wouldn’t. Yet, going in and acting as if everything was normal when he’s pretty sure that Akechi hated him sounded like a terrifyingly impossible prospect and he wasn’t sure how well he was going to be able to handle it. Worst case scenario, he could make a quick exit out the window and then blame a temporary bout of mindless insanity when he was inevitably questioned about it later.

He probably... _wouldn’t_ do that. But still, it was an option.

It’s with that thought that he and Ann finally find themselves in front of the door to Akechi’s apartment. Akira has been here several times before obviously, and yet this time he lingers back and lets Ann be the one to knock, not wanting to do it himself.

It doesn’t take long for the door to open, and suddenly Akechi is standing there in his hoodie and sleep shorts. It’s only been a few days since he’s last seen Akechi, but something in Akira’s chest tightens at the sight of him while he also is filled with an inexplicable sense of relief.

He had missed him.

“Ann?” Akechi questions in obvious surprise, his gaze landing on her first. “This is unexpected.”

“We had movie night, remember?!” She responds cheerily and Akechi blinks at her in response.

“I thought we were doing that over call?”

“Well yeah, we _were_. But then Akira wanted to join and he mentioned he’s been here before, so I thought- why don’t we just have it in person?!”

Ann finishes her explanation with a bright smile and meanwhile Akira was going to _die_. He sends a silent prayer to whatever god might be up there, asking them to please open a hole in the floor that he could dive into it and never be seen again. It was better than dying slowly from embarrassment. Akechi was going to politely laugh in his face for being so clingy and pathetic, and also for giving Ann his address without his permission. In Akira’s defense, she’d been crafty in the way she pried that information out of him, acting as if Akechi had already told her and she’d simply forgotten.

Akira hadn’t known their visit to Akechi’s apartment was going to be a _surprise_.

Akechi doesn’t react the way he’d feared however, and instead stands there and looks him over in a way that makes Akira fidget nervously, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and wishing Akechi would just slam the door on him already.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he narrows his eyes at him and asks. “Why are you wearing a scarf?”

Akira shrugs, reaching up to adjust the dark blue material. “No reason.”

Not seeming pleased by his answer, Akechi seems to be about to say something else when Ann saves Akira from his scrutiny by speaking up instead.

“Is it okay if we come in?”

Without looking away from Akira, Akechi nods and steps to the side. Ann walks into his apartment and Akira follows after her when Akechi doesn’t immediately bar him entry. Instead, Akechi only continues tracking his every movement with that penetrating stare.

Thinking it’s probably his safest option, Akira makes an automatic beeline over to the sofa. While Ann empties out the contents of her bag onto the table, displaying a wide array of candy and bags of popcorn, Akira sits on the sofa and pretends he’s completely unaware of Akechi heading straight for him.

“It’s a little warm in here to keep wearing that, isn’t it?” Akechi says with a pleasant smile that’s all teeth as he sits on the sofa next to him.

“Uh no, I’m okay,” Akira tells him a bit nervously, feeling like he was suddenly facing down a wild animal and he had no idea what its next move was going to be.

Clearly catching onto the sudden tense air, Ann grabs a packet of popcorn kernels off the table and straightens. “I’m going to go make popcorn,” she announces and flees the scene, Morgana immediately following after her, the both of them leaving Akira to the wolves. Or well, one wolf.

He turns his attention back to Akechi, watching as his expression twitches and his plastic smile falls.

“Why do I have a feeling you’re hiding something?” Akechi asks him, gaze narrowing once again.

“What could I have to hide?” Akira asks, smiling weakly in a way that he’s well aware does absolutely nothing to help his case. He was usually much better at hiding his emotions, but Akechi was throwing him off his game in a multitude of ways. He really wished his heart would stop fluttering because it wasn’t really helping with his already very present bout of nerves.

“Take off the scarf, Kurusu,” Akechi tells him, meeting his eyes with an open challenge. There’s a part of Akira that wants to give into him and do exactly as he asks. The exciting little fluttering of his pulse recalling his dream last week and whispering, _what if-_

And yet, there’s another part of him that rises to the challenge in Akechi’s gaze, and tells him that this is a fight he has to win at any cost.

It’s that part of him that ultimately wins over.

“No.”

The moment the word leaves his mouth, there’s a flicker of something in Akechi’s expression, and then suddenly he’s lunging forward and reaching for the scarf. Akira jerks away from him in reflex, the action causing him to land flat on his back against the couch with Akechi hovering over him. He still has that determined look in his eyes, and Akira swallows as Akechi moves forward to make a grab at the scarf again. Akira fights back valiantly, the remains of his dignity and inability to back down driving him forward, but eventually Akechi reigns victorious, dangling the material of the scarf above Akira’s head with a smug self-satisfied smile.

Yet, when his eyes hit his skin, Akechi’s gaze narrows once more and he prods at Akira’s injury harshly with his fingers. Akira fights back a wince, but it’s luckily not too painful.

“What is this?” Akechi asks, his eyes intense, almost _angry_ for a reason Akira can’t discern. And yet, there’s something in his expression that makes Akira want to be honest. Something that tells him innately that now was about the time he stopped avoiding real answers for no reason beside his own dumb pride and fear.

“I was stabbed,” he admits, watching Akechi’s brows lift high in surprise. “By a small girl with a fork.”

“I see,” Akechi tells him simply, leaning forward to get a closer look at the wound. Akira tenses under the weight of him, still warm and solid against his body, combined with his sudden heart-stopping proximity. Akira once again has to wonder if Akechi seriously has no idea how provocative this position is as Akira tries to control his breathing and the pounding of his heart so that Akechi won’t notice. He could think about this later when he didn’t have Akechi straddling his waist and peering at his neck with an unreadable expression.

Shit, _he was straddling his waist._

Akira was _so_ screwed.

“If she aimed just a little higher and to the left, she could have killed you,” Akechi says fairly quietly, breaking through Akira’s mental panic.

Akira smiles weakly, not really sure how he’s supposed to deal with any of this. “Guess I was lucky?”

He was certainly _very_ lucky now. Or .. _unlucky_ , depending on how he looked at it.

Akechi doesn’t say anything, just continues staring at the injury with his indecipherable expression. There’s something innately curious about the way he reaches forward to thumb over it lightly and Akira swallows thickly.

He really wasn’t sure how much more he could take of this. Maybe Akechi knew about his crush and this was just his form of punishment, challenging Akira to see how long it was before he either broke and did something stupid, or embarassed himself so badly he’d never forget it for the rest of his sad existence.

Of course, moments after the thought crosses his mind, his savior comes in the form of his absolute favorite feline companion.

“Are you planning to get up anytime soon?” Morana asks, sounding exasperated. Akira’s gaze searches him out, also finding Ann in the process, who had apparently at some point returned and was now sitting on the floor and pretending to be very interested in flipping through documentary titles on the TV.

Akechi seems surprised to see them both for a moment, clearly having snapped out of whatever weird mood shift he’d been in earlier. He goes to move off of Akira only to wince in pain as he does so, the movement likely pulling at the injury at his ribs. It’d only been a few days, and Akira wasn’t aware of the extent of it, but it very likely hadn’t yet been given the chance to heal all the way. He wonders why it’s just seeming to bother him now, after he’d practically tackled him earlier. Almost as if he’d been so determined to get the scarf off he hadn’t even thought of his own wounded status.

The thought brings a slight grin to Akira’s lips as he finally sits back up.

His gaze slides back over to Akechi who doesn’t so much as look at him. “Bathroom,” he professes instead, quickly striding out of the room. Akira watches him go, still a bit in a daze from what happened, and when he turns back to Ann she’s looking at him with what seems to be a confusing mix between bewilderment and excitement.

“ _Okay_...What was that about?” She asks in a whisper-yell, and it’s then that it really _hits_ him.

Akechi had just been _straddling_ his waist.

Akira’s not sure if he wants to laugh, scream, cry, or some strange manic combination of the three. Yet, because he is currently still in Akechi’s apartment and also a functioning individual, he does none of those things and instead gives Ann a very straight and flat answer to her question.

“He was concerned that I’d been stabbed with a fork.”

“Concerned,” Ann responds, just as deadpan. “Akira is this... _normal_ for you two?”

“I told you they like to touch each other,” Morgana tells her, and Akira nearly chokes on his own spit again.

“Morgana. _Please_ , stop saying it like that,” he begs.

“What? It’s true.”

Ann just makes a humming noise and gives Akira a knowing look. “We’ll talk more about this later,” she says and turns back to the TV to his stark and immediate relief. “What documentary did you want to watch?”

From there they flip through the long series of titles before finally settling on a basic nature documentary with a lot of positive reviews. Ann stretches out on the floor with a blanket she must have found while she was off making popcorn, and Morgana curls up beside her.

As the opening credits begin, Akechi finally returns, settling into the spot at the opposite side of the couch from Akira, movements a little more stiff than usual.

“Hey, you okay?” Akira questions softly, low enough that Ann probably wouldn’t be able to hear unless she was purposefully listening in.

“I’m fine,” Akechi answers immediately, and Akira gives him a nod, knowing better than to push the issue. And yet, as he returns to watching the opening scenes of an overhead forest view, Akechi’s voice cuts through the silence. “You know,” he says, finally looking at him again. “You’ve been particularly scarce lately. And here I thought you’d been forming a pattern.”

It doesn’t escape Akira’s notice that the way he says it is that same way he used to say ‘you never fail to surprise me,’ in that overly saccharine way of his. Telling Akira that he was bothered by something. Akira just...wasn’t quite sure if he knew what that was.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” he says in explanation. Ann makes a small sound of laughter in response, and Akira shoots a look at the back of her head.

“I’m sure,” Akechi responds, his expression once again turning distant. Akira panics, realizing that he’d made another misstep somehow in the active minefield that every conversation with Goro Akechi seemed to be. For as much as he couldn’t comprehend the concept, it sounded as if Akechi was upset that he’d stopped bringing him food in the morning, as if Akira actually _wasn’t_ an annoyance to him.

“I can come by tomorrow morning,” Akira blurts.

Akechi turns fully to look at him, a fake smile on his lips as he shakes his head.

“That isn’t necessary.”

“I want to.”

And Akechi seems honestly surprised by his admission, his eyes going wide and his fake smile vanishing.

“Ah, well, I suppose I can’t stop you,” he tells Akira as he turns away from him and goes back to watching the TV without another word. Akira can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips, the conversation fading into a comfortable silence as the documentary plays.

After a while, Ann and Akechi begin trading commentary back and forth, while Akira stays mostly silent, content to listen. And at some point, Akechi ends up with the rest of Ann’s popcorn, and he curls up on the couch with it, once again reminding Akira endearingly of a hedgehog.

It’s when the nature documentary is in the section on marine life, and Akira’s watching the sharks swimming through the dark water of the ocean, that Akechi’s legs end up draped over his lap again. Akechi’s eyes don’t move away from the screen, but Akira catches Ann’s knowing look as he once again settles a palm over his knee.

And for the first time in days, Akira allows himself to breathe, relaxing back into the sofa. He finds himself with a warm feeling in his chest that might be _comfort_ , the exhaustion from the past few days settling in and causing him to fight back sleep.

Tomorrow he’d probably... _reschedule_ a few of his plans for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is going to be beach day :3 So be very excited for that heh. 
> 
> Thank you once again to everyone who has commented/left kudos!! We appreciate you all so much<3


	14. GORO VII - Beach Episode

Friendship was another word for invasion.

A consensual invasion, one that conquered its victim's heart and mind with a soft domination that was impossible to defend against. It was a subtle, insidious assault, a Trojan horse released inside his chest cavity, and Goro wasn't sure if he found it violating or liberating, terrifying or empowering. 

Friendship wasn't the bright, gentle emotions Featherman touted on their morning shows; it was possessive and intense, the claws of a predator hooking deep into its prey and refusing to let go. Who the prey was in this metaphor was uncertain - Goro was at the Phantom Thieves' mercy as they were his.

_ mine,  _ he acknowledged the feeling, after a too long denial,  _ the thieves are  _ **_mine._ **

It was a revelation that had come after two weeks of the Phantom Thieves' relentless friendship campaign. Two weeks of Kurusu bringing him breakfast, sometimes alone (Morgana didn't count as a person), or sometimes with one of the other thieves, all infusing his utilitarian apartment with warmth and character and companionship.

Kitagawa's art supplies, and even a painting he made just for him to 'give life to this emotionless abode'. Ann's various DVDs and assortment of nail polish she left behind when painting her and Kurusu's nails. Sakamoto's fitness magazines or electrolyte drink sachets he 'accidentally' forgot and dismissed Goro's attempt to return them with a flippant 'nah, you can have 'em!' Futaba's anime and manga paraphernalia, with scribbled links on post-it notes in random places in his apartment about what fanfic he should check out. Morgana's damned cat hairs and finally-

Kurusu. He had all but claimed the kitchen for himself, slowly populating Goro’s shelves and cupboards with cooking utensils and ingredients and making that space wholly  _ his. _ It was Kurusu's kitchen now, and Goro strangely didn't mind this.

Yes, his heart had been invaded and conquered - but he liked to think it wasn’t pacified. He still had some control over the situation, over these feelings, over this budding, creeping  _ want. _

(or so he told himself

the truth was, he had no control over this at all.)

* * *

"Come on, Goro, just a little bit?"

"You can't do 'a little bit' of nail varnish," Goro said dryly, giving Ann an unamused look when she pouted at him, "Also, if I appear in public with painted nails, that’ll cause too many problems with the media and the like."

Ann made a face, and waggled her nail polish brush at him, "But you won't be going out in public, you're going to the beach with us tomorrow! That means you have to pretty up a little."

"Pretty up," Goro repeated dubiously.

"Yeah, look, your housewife will back me up - hey! Akira! You're meant to pretty up for the beach, right?"

From the kitchen came Kurusu's muffled reply of; "I guess?"

"See!" Ann said proudly.

Goro ignored the housewife comment, flattening his stare at Ann's beaming face, "You're fighting a losing battle here."

"Okay, how about this?" Ann leaned slightly, "Just humour me? I made a bet with Ryuji that I could get you to wear this for the beach day. If you go along with it, I'll cut profits with you."

Sakamoto was not a rich man, and Goro doubted the "profit" would be money; "That being…?"

"Cake," Ann said solemnly.

"...I don't like sweets," Goro deadpanned.

"Wha- you eat cake all the time on your food blog!" Ann countered, "Also you eat Akira's, er,  _ attempts  _ at cake."

Goro fought to keep his expression straight, "If I don’t eat it, he sulks for days. It’s emotional manipulation, not me genuinely  _ liking _ sweets."

"I- oh," Ann frowned, then brightened, "Okay, then how about for the simple satisfaction of making Ryuji pay for my bottomless appetite for cake?"

Goro tilted his head in thought.

Sakamoto’s look of horror when he realised he’d be run into near debt feeding Ann’s insatiable desire for sweets would be pretty funny...

"Okay, fine," he finally said, "but I'm taking it off after beach day."

_ "Yesssss!" _ Ann fistpumped, and held out her hand expectantly, "Okay, lemme make your nails pretty."

With an air of resignation, he extended his hand to Ann. She was sitting on the floor of his living room, the nail polish lined up on the coffee table, while he was in his customary lounging position on the sofa. He was back to wearing t-shirts, the bruise on his arm faded enough into pale green splotches that were easily explained as hitting it on the edge of the kitchen counter.

Goro idly traced the fading mark with his gaze as he tried to ignore the cold, damp feeling of the nail brush expertly applying a thin underlayer of white to his nails. You could barely see the bruise now, but Kurusu still glanced at it from time to time the past few days, his expression growing pinched every time he did. 

Kurusu must think him blind or stupid - or simply didn’t care about his obviousness. Every time he came round, Kurusu always dedicated a minute or two scrutinising Goro, cataloguing where potential injuries were, any new scrapes, if he was moving stiffly… his stomach injury had already been clocked, though Kurusu thankfully made no comment on it, but Goro knew it was noted and filed away into whatever profile the Phantom Thief was concocting in his head. 

Okumura’s requests had thankfully petered out these last few days, so Goro didn’t have as much to hide, but he still had  _ something. _ He had scraped his knee from a fumbled sliding dodge underneath a target’s Shadow. He had a new bruise on his left shoulder when he was thrown against a wall during a botched Palace infiltration (he needed to finish that sometime this week). He had claw marks on his left hip where a frantically desperate Shadow had attempted to drag him down with them. He had a pulled muscle in his lower back where he had dodged a powerful attack by contorting himself in a bizarre position…

Tiny, little mistakes, slowly building up as his fatigue made him clumsier, less sharp. Luckily, Goro had time to breathe - no more jobs for the next week. 

As Goro let his thoughts settle into something blank and relaxed, his gaze slowly moving from his faded bruise to the motion of Ann’s fingers, Kurusu crept out of his kitchen stronghold bearing gifts: Leblanc curry. 

“Food’s ready,” Kurusu said, setting the bowls down on the coffee table and pausing to give him and Ann a curious look, “Nail painting?”

“It’s to ruin Sakamoto’s wallet,” Goro told him, now focused on the food. He was starving. 

Kurusu looked absolutely blank for a moment until; “Oh, the bet.” 

“Yeah,” Ann said distractedly, and blew on Goro’s nails, “Okay, that’s the undercoat done.  _ Don’t _ smudge it, I need to put the pattern on it later.” 

Goro huffed at the orders, but he was obligingly careful with how he handled his bowl of curry when Kurusu handed it over to him. Everyone settled into their places, Ann happily seated on the floor, using the coffee table as a sort of arm’s rest as she ate her curry. Morgana was blissfully dozing on her lap - a perk to having Ann around, Goro had found. Morgana was too busy simping over her to glare at him suspiciously. 

_ that cat is seriously getting to be a problem, _ he mentally grumbled. 

Kurusu sat down on the sofa and surrendered his lap to Goro’s legs. It was routine at this point -  _ cosy. _ Comforting. Goro shouldn’t indulge in it so much, but also he  _ should. _ He had decided the Phantom Thieves  _ were _ his, after all, so if he wanted to use Kurusu as a footrest, he can use him as a damned footrest. 

_ but, in two weeks, i’ll need to make a choice, won’t i? _ something quietly whispered in the back of his mind, a whisper he firmly squelched because he wasn’t going to think about that right now. 

After the beach day, when school resumed and Kurusu would be too busy to camp out at his apartment, Goro would… think of something. Concoct a plan so he can have his cake and eat it too. He can do it. He’s been pulling the wool over Shido’s eyes for two years, what’s a little bit more?

Goro stirred his curry with a frown. Yes, what’s a little bit more?

_ i’m so tired of giving up more, _ he thought listlessly, a strange mood overtaking him. He watched the television with heavy-lidded eyes, playing with his curry and barely following the film Ann had put on. Some foreign, Western film with a lot of explosions and guns. The  _ snap-crk _ of rounds made something inside of him twitch nervously; he could almost feel the phantom pressure of a trigger beneath his finger  _ (that’s the chopsticks) _ and the smell of carbon  _ (curry, not carbon). _

If he failed to trick Shido, would he be ordered to deal with Kurusu and the others like this in the Metaverse? Or would it be dealt with more mundanely? It was traceable, but paying off the Cleaner to eliminate vulnerable high school students would be nothing to Shido. They were outcasts or considered delinquents, criminals; it would be easy to brush it off as teenagers getting on the wrong side of a gang or- 

Akira’s hand gently squeezed his shin. 

“You okay?” Akira asked him softly. Goro glanced over at him, his heart heavy as lead in his chest. He felt- he felt…

It didn’t matter what he felt. Goro forced himself to relax, made himself smile. 

“Yes, of course,” he said pleasantly, “I was just thinking about how school will cut into my free time again soon. That’s all.”

Akira made a face - he never was a fan of his fake smiles, was he - but he didn’t push it. Goro prodded and played with his curry a bit more before forcing himself to dig in. It did taste lovely, and it’d be a shame to waste it. 

“We won’t be able to do this as often,” he elaborated after a few mouthfuls, “That’s all.”

Akira smiled, “Is this your way of saying you’ll miss me?”

Goro scoffed quietly, and bent his knee enough to playfully dig his heel into the meat of Akira’s thigh. Strong, calloused fingers curled around his ankle, Akira gently straightening his leg out to stop the abuse to his thigh. 

“I’ll miss your food,” he muttered stubbornly, and kept his focus wholly on said food while Akira beamed.

Goro firmly boxed up the uneasy feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach at the sight of such a happy expression directed at him, forcing himself not to dwell on it. 

(he couldn’t tell if it was trepidation or guilt)

* * *

The weather was pleasant when they arrived at the beach, the skies clear and the sun warm with a cooling breeze softening the sultry heat. It was the type of weather Goro would’ve avoided, if only because he didn’t - catch the sun well. He didn’t burn, but he instead  _ freckled, _ over the bridge of his nose and along his shoulders, and it was always a pain covering them up with foundation so - avoidance. 

A bit difficult to do when at the beach, but Goro used the excuse of concealing his identity to get away with covering up (a bonus in that it hid the lingering injuries he had as well). The beach was busy as well, the sun drawing out a thick crowd that made it easy for Goro to blend in as just another teenager, giving a blanket of anonymity he didn’t think he’d be so eager for. He had wanted fame before, but now… he was glad to be rid of its shackles. 

"You know, the point of being at the beach is to catch a tan."

Of course, like with everything, Kurusu had to scrutinise everything. Goro gave him a deadpan look over his sunglasses, conveying his total lack of fucks; "Tans don’t suit me."

"Oh?" Kurusu smirked a little, "So, which is it then? You burn or freckle?"

Goro scoffed and dug his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets - an off-white with a print of the Featherman R Rangers in their group pose. With the hood up and a dark pair of sunglasses perched on his nose (along with a healthy layer of sun cream for good measure), he very much resembled a celebrity going incognito to avoid crazed fans. He did compromise with a pair of dark shorts and sandals, though, to get into the spirit of beach day, but he was sorely regretting that now. Sand against his toes felt… ergh.

In all honesty this was his first time being here - the beach. Mother hadn't been able to afford a day trip there when he was young enough to appreciate it, and in foster care? Forget it. After that he'd been too busy with being an assassin and Detective Prince to indulge in such a pointless day out. The beach was hot, full of sand and stank of seasalt. Why would he want to be here?

( _ alone,  _ he amended. With the others, despite the heat and the sand and the smell of sea salt, he found it was... _ okay.  _ Tolerable, maybe.)

Goro's gaze snagged on Sakamoto manhandling the watermelon. He seemed to be trying to convince the others of his ability to crush it with his thighs, like he had seen someone do on TV, not at all deterred beneath the weight of Ann’s dubious frown.

"I think you should be more concerned about Sakamoto than me," Goro said mildly, tipping his head towards the blond, "He's either going to make a mess or hurt himself."

Kurusu looked over and made a face. 

“He won’t be able to do it,” he sighed resignedly. 

“Oh ho,” Goro couldn’t help but tease, his mouth curving into a wicked grin, “What’s this? The leader of the Phantom Thieves has a lack of faith in a loyal teammate? I’m stunned.”

Kurusu’s face flushed, and he looked away with the tips of his ears going pink, “I-I’m just a realist.”

“Hm,” Goro eyed him thoughtfully. 

“Hey!” Sakamoto was waving them over, “Akechi, Akira - stop flirtin’ over there and watch me destroy this watermelon!”

Kurusu made a very interesting noise, high-pitched and right in the back of his throat, as he rushed over to Sakamoto with a hissed, “We’re not flirting!”

Goro rolled his eyes, ambling after him at a much more sedate pace. He wasn’t bothered about the teasing regarding his and Kurusu’s  _ domestic _ friendship, and in fact took great pains to ignore any and all comments flung their way, affecting an air of utter obliviousness about it all. The others were clearly aiming to get a rise out of them, and Goro was stubborn enough not to play into their hands. It was just typical juvenile teasing.

Too bad Kurusu wasn’t on the same page. He got so flustered… 

“The chances of you cracking that watermelon open are less than zero,” Futaba was saying when Goro joined the loose circle around Sakamoto, “You have twig legs. Twiggles.”

“Wha- my legs are  _ branches, _ thank you very much,” Sakamoto huffed, slapping a hand against the side of his thigh, “These babies made me the best track runner in Shujin for a reason! They’re strong as hell!”

Goro tilted his head and studied Sakamoto’s legs. Beside him Kitagawa did the same. 

“They’re not…” Goro started. 

“...thick enough,” Kitagawa finished. 

“Hey,” Sakamoto grumbled.

“Or muscular enough,” Goro added, just to be mean. 

“Alright, Mr. Pretty Boy Detective,” Sakamoto huffed, planting his hands on his hips, “I think my legs are pretty muscley. Look!”

Sakamoto stuck his leg out for study. Everyone obligingly scrutinised it with small noises of polite interest. 

“Yeah but…” Morgana piped up, “Crow’s look stronger.”

Goro tried not to flinch when that intense scrutiny swung onto him. Unwilling to shy away and have Sakamoto win, he also extended his leg slightly in front of him. With a direct comparison, it was clear to see that while Sakamoto certainly did have a track runner’s musculature, Goro’s hips, thighs and calves had more well-toned muscle better suited to scrambling up Palace walls or sprinting down Mementos tunnels for hours on end. 

“Dude, what the eff,” Sakamoto whined, “You’re meant to be a nerdy detective, not Hulk Hogan.” 

“I do a lot of cycling and bouldering,” Goro said, which was a half-truth, since he certainly hadn’t had an opportunity to do that over the past month, “Also our side-activity as the Phantom Thieves is quite the workout too…”

“I bet  _ Akechi  _ can crush the watermelon,” Futaba said slyly, a wicked grin in place. 

“Hm, now that you mention it…” Ann mused, looking between Goro and Sakamoto’s legs, “Yeah, I think he can.” 

“C’mon!” Sakamoto groaned. 

“I’m not crushing a watermelon with my thighs,” Goro said flatly. 

“You won’t… or you  _ can’t?” _ Morgana jeered. 

Irritated, Goro turned to Kurusu for help, not at all amused at the childish peer pressure. But the hallowed leader of the Phantom Thieves was staring very intently at him with a curiously flushed face, his gaze fixated on Goro’s thighs. There was no sign he thought the challenge as immature - in fact he seemed incredibly  _ interested _ in it. 

“Akechi,” Kurusu said solemnly, lifting his gaze to look Goro right in the eye, “It’s okay. We won’t judge you if you feel like you can’t do it.”

Mother _ fucker- _

Goro couldn’t help it. His competitive spirit reared its ugly head with a vengeance, his jaw clenching as he glared Kurusu down with a bitten off; “When did I say I  _ can’t _ do it? I just said I  _ won’t.” _

“How come?” Sakamoto jeered, quick to back up Kurusu like the good little second he was, “Scared you’ll fail at it, Pretty Boy?”

“Ooooh, I bet he is~” Morgana purred, for once of the same mind with Sakamoto. 

“I mean, according to Google,” Futaba said, “It takes about a hundred and forty kilos worth of force to crush a watermelon. Akechi would need some super buff legs to manage it.” 

“I’m strong enough,” Goro growled stubbornly, even though he honestly had no idea if he was. He was hardly going to admit that. 

“In that case, ” Kurusu’s mouth curved into a Joker’s smile, taunting and driving Goro’s blood pressure right up to the stratosphere,  _ “Prove it.” _

Goro’s pride overrode common sense. 

“Fine,” he snarled, “Give me the watermelon.”

So, that was how he ended up with the watermelon in hand, the Phantom Thieves all staring at him with eager anticipation as he sat down on the sand and awkwardly placed it between his thighs. Futaba was filming it - though thankfully she kept her phone camera angled enough that his face wasn’t caught in the video after he shot her a warning glare - and in his periphery he saw Ann and Sakamoto make a wager in low mutters. 

Kitagawa was kneeling about two metres away from him, pencil and drawing pad at the ready. Goro didn’t want to know where the hell he had been hiding that, considering Kitagawa was simply dressed in an open t-shirt and shorts. 

“Ready?” Morgana said, acting as referee, “Three, two, one…  _ go!” _

Goro grunted as he clenched his thighs, and the Phantom Thieves immediately began cheering encouragement. It was-  _ difficult. _ A lot more difficult than he initially assumed it would be, sweat beading his brow and cheeks turning red from the effort, and there was a moment where he thought  _ ‘fuck, i actually can’t crush this fucking thing, fuck shit fuck’ _ when one last straining clench- 

**_CCCRNCK!_ **

-crushed it.

“Hah!” he yelled out in exhilated victory, grinning when everyone whooped or cried out in amazed surprise at his success. Except, there was a problem, one he became aware of almost immediately after the watermelon’s shell split open. The problem was: watermelons were fruit, and inside it there was a lot of pulpy, red fruit stuff that was now oozing all down his thighs and over the front of his shorts.

How did he not anticipate this.

“Oh my god!” Futaba crowed, “He did it! The madman did it!”

“Impressive!” Kitagawa gasped, his pencil sketching so rapidly it was a miracle it didn’t catch fire.

“That’s terrifying,” Morgana deadpanned. 

“Aw man,” Sakamoto groaned, obligingly handing a fistful of yen over to a gleeful Ann. 

And Kurusu-

When Goro glanced over at him, relaxing his clenched thighs to allow the watermelon’s remains to slide onto the sand, it was to a very stunned Kurusu who looked like he had been slapped with a fish. His eyes were transfixed on Goro’s thighs, his mouth open in clear shock and his face a brilliant scarlet. 

“You’ll catch flies like that,” Goro told him breathlessly, and awkwardly climbed back to his feet. His legs were a mess, “Ugh.” 

“I hope you brought a clean pair of shorts,” Futaba said, her phone camera angled right at his watermelon coated shorts. 

“Stop filming my crotch,” Goro huffed.

“No way! You know how much people would wanna see this? ‘Shocking clip! The Detective Prince gets seeded-’”

_ “Okay!” _ Ann interrupted, slapping a hand on the back of Futaba’s phone, blocking the filming, “Let’s keep it PG-13!”

“Every celebrity needs a sex tape scandal, I suppose,” Goro said idly, ignoring the strange noise Kurusu let out at that in favour of carefully wiping off watermelon pulp off his shorts, “Especially when their popularity is nosediving like mine.”

“Yeah, those haters haven’t let up at all,” Sakamoto sighed, “There’re some on the Phansite even askin’ for your heart to be changed. Changed for what? You’re just on TV saying vigilante stuff is wrong, or whatever.”

Goro felt a small flare of morbid humour at that. He supposed if he didn’t have a Persona he would be the sort to have a Palace - one like Futaba’s, maybe, or one dedicated to this seething resentment. But, then, without his Persona, he’d still be one of many faceless orphans tumbling through the cracks, ignored and unwanted, not important enough to warrant a personal visit from the Phantom Thieves. 

“Not even getting into the whole ‘Persona users can’t have Palaces’...” Morgana sighed, “Akechi wouldn’t even be our kind of target. That site’s been giving us other names we should consider.”

“Indeed,” Kitagawa said, raising from the sand with his new masterpiece in hand, “If I recall, the name ‘Okumura’ has been submitted quite often. Perhaps we should start investigating that one?”

Goro felt his heart briefly stop. 

“Okumura?” he asked sharper than he intended, “Kunikazu Okumura?”

“You know him?” Sakamoto said in clear surprise. 

Futaba snorted;  _ “I _ know him and I’m a shut-in. He’s the CEO of Okumura Foods. Big Bang Burger,” she elaborated when Sakamoto continued to look blank. 

“Oh! Him!” Sakamoto nodded and crossed his arms, “Huh, so… why’s he a potential target?”

“According to the Phansite, he doesn’t care about his employees and treats them like dirt,” Kurusu said, seemingly recovered from his shock over the power of Goro’s thighs, “So, he’s your typical asshole boss.” 

“Typical asshole boss,” Goro repeated in disbelief, “That’s putting it mildly, Kurusu. His unethical business practices have caused Okumura Foods to be mired in multiple scandals ranging from corporate sabotage to worker abuse. He’s a greedy, selfish man who only cares for his own profits and has ruined more than a few lives without caring for the consequences. He’s a bit more than  _ typical.” _

“It seems you have taken initiative and researched him already,” Kitagawa observed curiously, “Were you planning on nominating him as our next target?” 

Goro stifled a wince. He let his personal feelings leak through there; “Ah, no- that is, his name has been mentioned several times in my line of work. I was just surprised to hear it bandied about on the Phansite as well.”

“Hmm,” Morgana was eyeing him shrewdly, “You made it sound really personal, though.” 

This  _ cat, _ seriously.

“I dislike those who exploit others,” Goro said stonily.

“I can’t believe the guy in charge of Big Bang Burger is an ass,” Sakamoto sighed, “Ugh, guess I won’t be buying stuff from there anymore.”

“Hey, guys, let’s leave the work talk for later,” Ann interjected, giving everyone a smile when they turned to her, “Today’s meant to be a fun day, y’know? We can focus on who to target next later!”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Kurusu said before anyone else could comment or protest, “We’ll meet up sometime next week to discuss our next target. For now, let’s, uh, continue having fun?”

“I need to wash my shorts,” Goro said, relieved about the change in topic. He’ll have to think of something to divert the Phantom Thieves’ attentions onto a different target - he’s sure he has a more vile person on his list that wouldn’t draw Shido’s ire if he had a change of heart, “They’re getting sticky.”

Kurusu coughed pointedly.

Goro realised what he just said and felt heat rush to his cheeks, “You- you know what I mean!”

Ann laughed, “Oh, Goro. You walked into that one, huh?”

“... Futaba, you seem to be doing well,” Goro said, bluntly changing the subject as he turned to the less threatening member of their team, “Is the crowd not bothering you?”

“I’m fine,” Futaba said, fiddling with her phone. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, and there was a thread of tension going through her, but compared to how she was the first time she walked to Leblanc by herself, she seemed more sure of herself, “You guys are here, so… I don’t feel as nervous.” 

“Oh, hey, it’s almost lunchtime,” Ann said, “Maybe we should get something to eat?”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group, and Futaba took that moment to dig through her bag, resurfacing a moment later with her goal in hand: instant ramen. 

“You brought  _ that  _ here?” Kitagawa asked in disbelief. 

“My staple food,” Futaba said solemnly. 

And that was how they ended up eating instant ramen at the beach. Even Goro, who was inexperienced in such things, knew this wasn’t the norm - but when did the Phantom Thieves ever do the norm? After a bit of settling, clearing away the wrecked watermelon, and Kurusu kindly sacrificing a water bottle to Goro washing bits of dried watermelon off his shorts (luckily the dark colour hid the stains), they ate their instant ramen and enjoyed each other’s company beneath the hot sun.

The girls inevitably abandoned them though to ride on the banana boats, dragging Kitagawa along with them as ‘the chosen one’ to make up the third. Sakamoto had been nearly inconsolable at the rejection, especially at Ann’s parting words of him never being able to steal a girl’s heart. 

“Yusuke won’t appreciate it!” Sakamoto near-wailed, shaking his fist at the trio’s departing backs, “Damn it!”

“Appreciate what?” Goro asked, frowning when Sakamoto, Kurusu  _ and _ Morgana stared at him like he had missed some vital social cue, “Banana boating?”

“Oh my god,” Sakamoto groaned, “Ann was right. You really are oblivious.”

“Hey,” Goro huffed. 

“Ugh, this is such a pain,” Sakamoto continued to grumble, “We risk our lives bein’ Phantom Thieves. There’s no way we’re the same as other guys around here. Shouldn’t we be havin’ more good times in reality too?” 

“You have a point,” Kurusu said thoughtfully. 

“Right?” Sakamoto perked up at this validation, and turned to Goro who was still annoyed at being called  _ oblivious,  _ “Don’t you agree, Akechi?”

“I’m not sure what you want me to agree to,” Goro said peevishly, “Aren’t we having a good time now?”

“No- I mean,  _ yes, _ but,” Sakamoto sighed and clasped his hands before him, like a teacher before a difficult child, “Ann and Futaba don’t get it ‘cause they’re always around us, but they just think we’re normal guys.”

Goro stared at him in incomprehension, “...okay.”

“Hey,” Morgana piped up, “How do we get Lady Ann to notice how amazing we are as Phantom Thieves?”

“Well, we gotta steal…” Sakamoto’s eyes glinted,  _ “You-know-what.” _

“Swim-suits?” Kurusu asked doubtfully.

“You moron, that’s a crime,” Sakamoto snapped before Goro could say it, “What we’re gonna steal in reality are… girls’ hearts.”

“I see. I just need to prove my skills in reality as well…” Morgana mused.

“Let’s steal all the hearts with the skills we’ve honed as Phantom Thieves!” Sakamoto proclaimed, thrusting his fist high into the air with boyish passion. Beneath the golden sun, he looked like a half-naked shounen hero psyching himself up for an arduous task, “I’m sure girls will be all over us, considering the vibes we give off!” 

Goro and Kurusu eyed him doubtfully. 

“...well, have fun with that,” Goro said, “Try not to have the police called on you.”

“Dude, c’mon, we need you most of all,” Sakamoto said quickly, “You can like, lure them in with your pretty boy looks and we’ll charm them once they’re in range. Heheh, there’ll be no escape~”

“Why are you making it sound like we’re hunting wild animals?” Goro grumbled, “And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m trying to remain  _ incognito. _ The last thing I need is to be mobbed by fans and haters alike at the  _ beach.” _

“You can still be ‘incognito’,” Sakamoto waggled his fingers in playful quotation marks, “Just use a fake name and keep your hood and sunglasses on! You can be, uh, I dunno, Ren!”

“Ren,” Goro said flatly, “Also, how am I meant to ‘lure in’ girls with my ‘pretty boy looks’ if I keep them covered up?”

“You look pretty even lookin’ like a shifty guy,” Sakamoto complained, “Right, Akira?”

Kurusu looked a bit put on the spot, but he awkwardly nodded when Goro gave him an unimpressed look over his sunglasses, “You do look good, er, like that. All the time, I mean.”

“Thanks,” Goro said dryly. 

_ “So?” _ Sakamoto pressed, “You gonna be our wingman or not?”

“I would’ve thought you wouldn’t want me as  _ competition,” _ Goro snarked, but the heat and full stomach made him agreeable and lethargic. Sakamoto was like a dog with a bone once he got an idea into his head, and this seemed… harmless. Goro didn’t have to do anything but stand there, and he was hardly going to flirt with anyone - if anything, he could amuse himself by sabotaging Sakamoto and Kurusu’s attempts to pick up girls. 

“Nah, I know you ain’t interested in this stuff,” Sakamoto said, showing a surprising amount of insight, “Which makes you perfect wingman material!”

Goro groaned and slouched a little in his beach chair, but after a pause decided to go with it, “Fine.” 

_ “Yes!” _ Sakamoto fist-pumped, “It’s settled!”

“Er, you sure?” Kurusu asked him, and when Goro glanced over to him, he seemed a bit uncertain, “You don’t have to go along with…” 

“Mona, you’re in charge of watching our stuff, okay?” Sakamoto bulldozed over him. 

“Huh?” Morgana’s excitement stalled, realisation dawning on the cat that he was being left behind,  _ “Huh!? _ Wait a minute-!”

“All right, let’s hurry up and go!” Sakamoto declared, and promptly walked off. Kurusu and Goro quickly got up to follow, leaving Morgana yelling at their backs in a hissing fury. 

Goro smirked. Heh. 

They ambled through the thick crowd of people until Sakamoto made a small sound of interest; “Oh, oh, look over there! Two hotties!”

Goro grimaced at the phrasing and obligingly looked over. Two women in their mid-twenties were lounging on beach chairs, chatting to each other. Their postures were lazy and content, relaxed, and they seemed quite happy enjoying each other’s company. Sakamoto made as if to walk up to them, and Goro snapped a hand out, hooking his fingers into the back of Sakamoto’s swimming trunks and yanking - hard. 

_ “Uwah!” _ Sakamoto staggered back, pinwheeling his arms and almost whacking both Goro and Kurusu with the exaggerated motions, “Hey, what the-”

“Idiot,” Goro scolded, releasing Sakamoto’s swimming trunks and stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets, “Learn to read the room before you go barging into someone’s conversation. Look.”

Kurusu and Sakamoto obligingly looked over at the women. 

“They’re perfectly happy with just each other. They’re not in the mood right now to socialise with random strangers walking up to them without warning or invitation,” Goro educated them, a little despairing that Kurusu hadn’t bothered to intervene. He should’ve known Sakamoto was setting himself up for failure, right? “If you’re looking to chat someone up, it’s better to go to the bar or drink stands. You can tell if there are people there looking to socialise.” 

Sakamoto gaped at him, “Dude, you’ve done this before!”

Goro shrugged, “It’s the same as networking at social events. You need to choose your approach carefully and time it right. First impressions are everything, and they bank on the current mood of your target- er, person of interest.” 

“Who’s talkin’ about women like wild animals now, huh?” Sakamoto grumbled, but he didn’t seem too annoyed, “Okay, then you pick someone out, oh Great Wingman.”

“Don’t call me that,” Goro sighed, but he obligingly moved towards the drink stands, Sakamoto and Kurusu trailing in his wake. Kurusu was oddly quiet, and he didn’t seem pleased at Goro’s experience in approaching people. What, did he hope Goro would humiliate himself trying to help Sakamoto pick up women? It would be funny to watch, he supposed… 

_ hmph, guess i can’t give him the satisfaction of failing, then, _ Goro thought irritably. 

They reached one of the bars, crowded with people searching for a way to beat the heat. Goro could feel his sunglasses slip a little down his nose from sweat, the hoodie discomfitingly hot despite the shade it was offering him from the worst of the sun rays. Ugh, he was freckling across his nose, he can just  _ tell.  _ Eager to get this over with and fob Sakamoto on some poor, unknowing victim, he scanned the crowd with a calculating gaze until he settled on a suitable target. 

“There we go,” Goro said, and motioned for them to follow him to the bar. It served both alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks, and most people were adults in varying degrees of sobriety, “Stay here. Don’t talk to anyone.”

Then he abandoned the two without a backwards glance, snaking his way around the various adults to the person he singled out. A woman of about similar age to him, perhaps a year or two over, looking a bit disconsolate and idly playing with her drink. She was blond, her hair tied in low pigtails, with a Western look about her - European? Something like that. In any case, she was perfect. 

Goro paused before approaching, taking a moment to fish out the appropriate persona and plaster it onto his face. He smiled, warm and concerned, and gently inserted himself into her general vicinity, close, but not close enough to threaten, sweeping back his hoodie - the sunglasses and the ponytail would be enough to disguise him from immediate recognition. 

“Hi,” he chirped when the woman looked over to him with a small frown, “Sorry for bothering you, but you seem a bit down. Are you okay?”

“Are you picking me up?” she asked suspiciously, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry,” Goro lifted his hands placatingly, “I’m gay  _ and _ taken, so you’re safe from me.”

“Really,” the woman didn’t seem overly convinced, but her posture softened up. 

“The name’s Ren,” he said, “Can I buy you a drink?”

She did indeed want a drink. Non-alcoholic, so Goro assessed her age beneath twenty-one, considering the longing looks she was giving the rum glass behind the bar. That, or she forgot her ID. Either way, it didn’t take long for her story to come out: her boyfriend had dumped her that day to chase after someone else he had been dating behind her back, but she was stubborn enough to try and enjoy her day at the beach - and was currently failing miserably. 

“That’s awful,” Goro said sympathetically, “Men, huh?”

“Yeah,” the woman, Asami, snorted, “I just wish… ugh, there were so many red flags I didn’t pay attention too. I feel like an idiot.”

“Sometimes we wish to see what we want, rather than what’s there,” Goro sighed, “I know, I’ve been there. But, you know, the best type of revenge is living well. Wallowing over him still gives him a type of power over your life.”

Asami made a considering noise, playing with her ponytail, “Is this where you tell me you’re not gay after all and you’re interested?”

“No,” Goro gave her a cheeky smile, “This is when I say I’ve been roped into acting wingman for a friend. He’s a shy one, though, and every woman we, that is, me and my boyfriend, dragged him to made him all tongue-tied and nervous. So, I’m taking a break from it right now. Playing wingman is tiring...”

“What about your boyfriend?” Asami asked, her eyebrows raised. 

“Babysitting,” Goro chuckled, “Or, ah, trying to psyche Ryuji up - the friend I’m wingmanning for. He’s a lot better at it than me, to be honest.”

“Hm…” Asami finished off her drink and drummed her fingers on the bar. Her gaze trailed over the nearby crowd, no doubt searching out her ex-boyfriend, and something in her expression firmed, “Alright, I’ll have a look at him.”

Goro blinked in utter surprise, “Huh, what? Oh, no, I’m not- you don’t have to force yourself-”

“Nah, I owe you one for listening to me and buying me a drink,” Asami waved off, “I can try and help your friend get some confidence around girls, at least. I’m not looking to date, mind, but I can play along for today, okay?”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Goro smiled brightly at her, “That’s very kind of you. Here, let me buy you another drink and, er, if you feel like you don’t want to humour him, just leave. I don’t want you feeling obligated.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Asami said with a smile, but she accepted the drink when Goro flagged down the bartender, “I have to admit, I’m mostly curious to see your boyfriend. He has to be pretty.”

Goro chuckled, and internally hoped Kurusu was quick to play along; “Oh, he is.”

He and Asami wandered back to where Goro had left Sakamoto and Kurusu. Thankfully, they had stayed in place,  _ unfortunately _ it seemed like Sakamoto had attempted to talk to someone, and was slumped in rejection with Kurusu awkwardly patting his shoulder. Well, actually, it might garner pity points from Asami. 

“The black-haired one’s your boyfriend, right?” Asami whispered, and grinned when Goro gave her a disbelieving look, “Hey, I don’t judge tastes! Some people like blonds.” 

“Ryuji is a bit too enthusiastic for me,” Goro said dryly, then raised his voice once they were close and the pair took notice of them, “Ryuji, Akira, I’m back!”

Kurusu blinked rapidly and Sakamoto boggled a little, but Goro ploughed on before their surprise ruined everything; “I know I said I went to take a break, but I got to talking with Asami here and she was interested in hanging out with us. Is that alright?”

“Ren told me you were trying to learn how to talk to women,” Asami said directly to Sakamoto, who was looking especially pole-axed. Goro supposed it was because Asami was aesthetically pleasing - well-proportioned, a pretty face and nice eyes - and probably disbelief in Goro’s success. Hah, “I thought I may as well lend you a hand.”

“T-Talk, um, uh?” Sakamoto squeaked. Perfect. He’s playing his part well.

“I see what you mean,” Asami said wryly to Goro, but she looked more amused than turned off, “Okay, buddy, scoot over. Lemme get to know you.” 

Sakamoto gave Goro a look like he couldn’t believe what was happening, and Goro simply gave him a smile and a little ‘go on’ shooing gesture when Asami sat next to him. With that, he quickly snagged Kurusu by the hand before he could open his mouth and drew him away from the pair so he could whisper, quietly; “She thinks we’re boyfriends, so pretend to sneak off with me.”

Kurusu made a short, sharp noise;  _ “What-” _

Goro ignored his surprise, “Sakamoto is going to be too busy enjoying himself to pay attention, and I don’t particularly want to watch him fuck this up, so let’s  _ go.” _

Kurusu blinked rapidly, looking between Goro and Sakamoto as he was pulled away. Asami glanced over and gave them a thumbs up, one Goro returned with a grateful wave and a grin. The moment they were out of their sight, he let go of Akira’s hand and yanked his hood back up.

“Ugh,” he groaned, “I hate talking to people.” 

Kurusu was staring at him. 

“What?” Goro muttered peevishly, “Annoyed I convinced someone you were gay?”

_ “No! _ No,” Kurusu said quickly, “I’m just… surprised. I thought you ditched us, to be honest.”

“The thought crossed my mind,” Goro admitted, letting his feet take him wherever. He didn’t particularly want to go back to Morgana and be subjected to the cat’s suspicious glares, especially after ditching him, but the beach was too crowded to walk along the shore, volleyballs flying everywhere and people ambling about. Inevitably, they began to drift back towards where they left their belongings and mouthy cat. 

“You’re really good at charming people, huh?” Kurusu murmured after a comfortable lull between them. He sounded contemplative. 

“Jealous, Kurusu?” Goro scoffed, “Don’t be. It was a hard-earned skill having to deal with adults as a Detective Prince. They won’t pay attention to you if you’re not  _ charming _ enough.” 

“Hm,” Kurusu gave him a significant look, “You were like a different person.”

“I have to be,” Goro said, and gestured to himself,  _ “This _ isn’t charming.”

“I think it is,” Kurusu said quietly, almost shyly. 

“I’m brusque, rude and abrasive,” Goro drawled, “It’s  _ not _ charming - but thank you for trying to spare my feelings. Your pity is  _ unappreciated.” _

Kurusu fell into a frustrated silence, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. 

“What was that?” Goro asked, finding a strange sort of enjoyment at winding Kurusu up like this, “I didn’t quite hear.”

“I said Ann’s right,” Kurusu said loudly and very pointedly, “You are so  _ oblivious.” _

Goro frowned, “I don’t see how I am. I’m very-”

He was interrupted when Kitagawa crossed paths with them, holding live lobsters in each hand. His appearance was so unexpected and bizarre that Goro said, without thinking; “What the fuck.”

“So this is where you were,” Kitagawa said serenely, like being caught carrying live lobsters around was perfectly normal, “I’ve been searching for you.” 

“Yusuke,” Kurusu said, appearing unruffled by this bit of weirdness, “Weren’t you with Ann and Futaba?”

“Ah, yes, I was. But I lost interest in the banana boat not long after we departed, so I left Ann and Futaba to enjoy themselves,” Kitagawa said, holding the lobsters up a little higher, “As I wandered the sands, searching for inspiration, I found these beautiful specimens on sale. And so, I decided to spend the last of my money on them.” 

Goro sighed, deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing his sunglasses up. 

“Kitagawa…” he murmured, “I worry about you.”

“Thank you,” Kitagawa said, “That’s kind of you to say.”

“That’s not- I didn’t mean-” Goro lowered his hand, exchanging looks with Kurusu. He looked as tired as he felt, “Why did you buy the lobsters.”

“I was entranced,” Kitagawa confessed, “The moment I set eyes on this distinct shape, I was in love. I haven’t had my very core shaken as vigorously as this since the first time Ann entered my gaze.”

Kitagawa stared dreamily at the lobsters in his hands, as if they were akin to precious children he planned to cherish for the rest of his life. Goro just- accepted this. Fine. Kitagawa did weird shit all the time. He was in love with lobsters. Fine. Whatever. At least he was happy. 

“Alright,” Goro said, “Well, we’re going back to see if Morgana has abandoned our belongings. Come along.”

Kitagawa obediently followed, muttering and chuckling at his new lobster children. Along the way, they stumbled across Ann and Futaba chatting to a pair of well-tanned men - though,  _ chatting  _ was perhaps putting it generously. 

“We’re here with friends,” Ann was saying, while Futaba used her as a human shield, clearly intimidated by the guys’ flirting.

“C’mon, don’t lie to us, baby,” one of the men crooned, “How about you come for a nice cruise on our boat?”

“There’s going to be a party too,” the other guy interjected, “Tons of celebrities and industry people will be coming along.”

“Are you even listening to us?!” Ann snapped angrily. 

“We’re back,” Goro said, barging right into the conversation with Kurusu and Kitagawa flanking him. He skimmed his gaze over the two men - he vaguely recognised the brown-haired one, and he was wearing Versace swimming trunks, very expensive, definitely a rich man - or someone anxious to flaunt their wealth. 

“Huh, so you were serious about being here with friends,” the blond man muttered, sounding put out. 

“That’s what we’ve been saying from the start!” Ann huffed. 

“Don’t you find it boring spending your time with kids like them?” the rich asshole said, giving Kitagawa in particular a derisive look, “Weird ones at that. You’ll have more fun with us.”

Goro felt a sudden flash of anger - a dark, possessive sort that had his hackles rising. Where did this piece of shit get off in looking at  _ his _ Phantom Thieves like that? Only Goro can call them  _ weird.  _ And the idea this creep thought he could swoop in and intimidate  _ his _ friends and spirit them away to his party boat like an absolute pervert- 

Ann opened her mouth, but Goro was already taking a step forward - an aggressive one that had the two men instinctively backing up;  _ “Beat it, _ old man,” Goro growled, his voice hitting a low, threatening timbre, “Before I  _ make  _ you leave.”

For a brief moment, the blond one looked like he was going to meet Goro’s challenge head on, but quickly reconsidered. While he was older, Goro clearly had the upper hand in the physical department. He could snap the pair of them over his thigh like brittle twigs if push came to shove. 

“Geeze, some kids can’t take a joke,” the wealthy asshole huffed, and the pair of them skulked off with a mutter of  _ ‘brat’, _ all but retreating with their tails between their legs.

Goro watched them go with narrowed eyes. Yeah, keep walking, fuckers. 

“Wow,” Ann said, “Guard dog much?”

Goro huffed and crossed his arms defensively, “Assholes like them will just push and push if you let them. Threats are the only way to deal with them.”

“So much for the pacifistic Detective Prince,” Futaba mumbled, sidling out from behind Ann, “Thanks, though. Those guys were  _ creepy.” _

“Yeah, they wouldn’t stop pestering us,” Ann complained, “Ugh, I would’ve thought the beach would be safe, but  _ noooo, _ you get weirdos everywhere.”

Hmm. Goro’s gaze drifted back to where the two had left. That one with the expensive swim trunks really did seem familiar; “Did you get their names?”

“For what?” Ann rolled her eyes, “No. Let’s just leave it. They’re gone now.”

Goro made a small mental note but dropped the subject. 

“Are those lobsters?” Futaba asked, moving from Ann’s side to Kitagawa, staring in amazement at the wriggling creatures, “One in each hand!?”

“I was wondering that myself…” Ann muttered. 

“Are you going to make them into sashimi?” Morgana asked, and Goro almost jumped out of his skin, having not noticed the cat slinking up to them. They were close enough to their belongings that Morgana probably saw them afar and decided to say hello - or bitch about being abandoned; “Or perhaps roast them whole!?”

Kitagawa let out a dramatic gasp that would have a thespian proud. 

“Enough of your vile postulations!” he snapped, holding his lobster children higher out of Morgana and Futaba’s hungry grasps, “These are purely for the sake of visual appreciation!”

“But, sashimi!” Morgana wailed.

“Lobster!” Futaba cried. 

“Wait, where’s Ryuji?” Ann asked, frowning as she looked around, “Did he get lost.”

“Oh, Akechi set him up with a lady,” Kurusu said, and Goro tried not to shift when Ann gave him a disbelieving look. 

“What?” Goro huffed, “He asked me to be his wingman, so I delivered. He’s with Asami now.”

_ “Who?” _

“A lovely young lady who was dumped by her bastard of a boyfriend today,” Goro explained, giving Ann a pleasant smile, “We shared a few drinks, I told her about Sakamoto, and she agreed to entertain him while I and my ‘boyfriend’ slinked off to enjoy ourselves.”

“Boyfriend…” Ann said slowly, her gaze shifting to Kurusu. 

“Oh,” Kitagawa turned to him, his arms raised high in the air, uncaring of Futaba attempting to climb him like a gangly tree, “So, it’s official, then?”

“What? No,” Goro frowned at him, “It was pretend.”

“Oh,” Kitagawa sounded disappointed. 

Ann was making a peculiar expression, her gaze shifting from Goro to Kurusu, before it slipped into something exasperated, “Of course it was pretend.” 

After that comment, they drifted back to their area. Morgana whined to Ann about being abandoned and how he was left to care for their belongings all by himself, which was easily soothed by Ann thanking him and giving him a few pats on the head. They buried Kitagawa in the sand and, it was around this time Sakamoto returned with a silly grin and swearing undying loyalty to a bemused Goro. With their numbers back to full, they managed to have a few games of volleyball where Goro and Kurusu got a little… too… competitive, maybe, ending the day lounging on the shoreline while the sun began to sink past the horizon, exhausted, tired and  _ content. _

_ i enjoyed myself, _ Goro mused as he sat on the sand, his sunglasses tucked into the collar of his hoodie. No matter how much suncream he had put on, the sun had eventually won out in peppering the bridge of his nose with freckles, but luckily no one commented on it (though Kurusu had stared at him like he  _ wanted _ to make a comment). 

“We should probably start heading home,” he said, after they all sat in a companionable silence for a while. 

“I agree,” Kitagawa said, “Let’s pack up.”

“Futaba seemed fine in the crowd too,” Ann commented, shooting the girl a proud smile.

“Hey, Futaba. We’re goin’ home,” Sakamoto called, heaving himself up off the sand, “Stop standin’ around and help us.” 

Futaba, gazing out at the ocean, didn’t immediately answer. Instead she slowly squatted down, water lapping over the toes of her sandals. Goro frowned, rising from the sand as the others carefully approached her. He lingered at the back of the group, wondering if her nerves had finally given out from such an action-packed day. 

“You know,” Futaba started, her voice soft as she began gently rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, “All this time, I thought that it was my fault that my mom died. It’s because everyone said that I killed her. Everyone looked at me thinking I was a murderer.”

And it was as if reality slammed a tub of frozen water over him. That warm, lethargic contentment vanished, leaving behind a sour, clenching feeling in his gut as Goro was reminded, yes, he had killed Wakaba and ruined Futaba’s life, and had spent the past day pretending like he had done nothing wrong to her. He shouldn’t care, but he  _ did _ and- that nauseous feeling hooked its claws deep into his guts, yanking and clawing, refusing to let him pretend otherwise. 

He took a step backwards, away from the group. No one noticed. 

“I ended up hating this world,” Futaba continued, “That’s why I shut myself in and covered my ears. I wished… I wished my mom would come back to life. Sometimes, I’d wake up and think it was all a dream. But nothing had changed in the world. That’s why I’d sleep again. It’d be a repeat of that...”

_ i know, _ Goro thought miserably,  _ how that feels… _

He knew how it felt, shuffled into a stranger’s home, listening to the whispered words behind his back how his mother  _ ‘hadn’t been a surprise, really, considering’ _ and  _ ‘oh, poor dear, all alone now’ _ and  _ ‘she couldn’t take it anymore, raising him by herself, well she shouldn’t have gotten pregnant then, should she’  _ \- wishing, deeply, fervently, that that night had been a nightmare, that one day he’ll return from school or wake up and his Mother would be there, ready to take him back to their small apartment and apologise, making up an excuse how it had been a mistake or-

_ but  _ **_you did that_ ** _ to futaba, _ a harsh voice whispered to him, sounding strangely like Robin Hood,  _ you made her suffer like you did, and now you’re pretending to be her friend. have you no shame?  _

_what will telling the truth do?_ Another voice murmured, rumbling and distorted like a Shadow’s, _stop feeling guilty, it’s pointless. shido’s downfall is all that matters. our revenge is all that matters. our revenge._ ** _our_** **_revenge._**

“I loved my mom. I wanted to become like her,” Futaba said wistfully, her voice warm with a strange fondness that was both fond and accepting, “How she’d work late into the night. How she’d wake up early and make me a boxed lunch every day. How she’d do her best to further her research. How she’d scold me for peeking at her notes.”

“It was cognitive psience, wasn’t it?” Kitagawa asked, and Goro couldn’t listen anymore. 

“I’ll pack our things,” he mumbled to his feet, and fled before he could hear or see any responses to that. 

No one followed him, and he was glad. His heart felt like it was trying to smash itself against his ribcage, a cold sweat clinging to his skin as he focused completely on clearing up the small mess they made on the sand. He packed the few bags they brought - and repacked them more efficiently. His head was pounding, a nauseous teetering like a mental vertigo, a harsh pressure against the back of his eyes. 

“Stop it,” he whispered, pressing a hand against his forehead, “Stop it.”

The feeling eventually passed, but it left him troubled. Those headaches and dizzy spells were getting more and more frequent. Was it a sign of his faltering will? He remembered the research notes, the ones pilfered from Kirijo that had substituted Wakaba’s research into the Metaverse. It detailed what happened if a Persona-user developed an internal contradiction or a faltering will. Normally, the user’s Persona reverted to its feral Shadow state and had to be reawakened once more, but those that had been born like Loki, the worst case was...

Goro stared at the open bag, mindlessly smoothing out the folded up towel placed at the very top. 

...right. 

He closed the bag, zipping it up.

The others were still listening to Futaba talk, standing by the shoreline with the orange glow of the setting sun behind them. Goro couldn’t see their expressions, but he knew they looked solemn and sympathetic, ready to support Futaba in whatever she was working her way through. He saw Kurusu’s head shift slightly, looking over at him, but Goro ducked his head and pretended not to see. 

_ ‘I wanted to become like her.’ _

“God, I hope you never be like her at all,” Goro muttered bitterly, “She had a Palace for a reason.” 

But so did Futaba, yet hers was- self-destructive. Hers was not Wakaba’s Palace, who was - who had never been a  _ bad _ person, but not a good one either. Passionate, and willing to go to forbidden lengths for those passions, who had so easily separated herself into Wakaba the Mother and Wakaba the Scientist. Perhaps Wakaba the Mother had been kind, and lovely, and someone to aspire to, but Wakaba the Scientist…

Goro looked away from the group, a white-knuckled grip on the bag strap. 

He didn’t regret killing Wakaba, not exactly, but he regretted the consequences it had on Futaba. Which was… new. Unpleasant. Unexpected. 

_ that’s guilt you’re feeling, _ the Robin Hood voice said. 

“Well, stop feeling it,” he muttered, “It’s pointless. I don’t need it.”

Robin Hood didn’t answer. 

The feeling didn’t go away.

* * *

It got worse when he realised what Futaba and the others had been talking about while he had been pretending to pack their bags. 

“That’s what her notes said,” Kurusu told him, as they both sat on the train together. Kurusu had been pushy about walking him home, having taken one look at his face after the others had joined him when Futaba’s speech had concluded, “If the Shadow dies, the person loses consciousness, so the Black Mask Kaneshiro and Madarame mentioned…” 

“You think he killed Futaba’s mother,” Goro said neutrally, “That’s a bit of a logic leap.”

“Is it?” Kurusu fidgeted with his fringe. Morgana was stowed in the bag, forbidden to show his face as no pets were allowed on the train, so Goro was spared from his suspicious glaring, “Boss said that Wakaba said she thought someone was going to kill her for her research, and Futaba said she lost consciousness suddenly and fell into traffic-”

“There’s a lot of ‘so-and-so said this and that’,” Goro said a bit more brusquely than intended, and softened his tone when Kurusu frowned at him, “I understand where your suspicions are coming from, but, there are many other mundane reasons why Futaba’s mother could have lost consciousness abruptly. She isn’t listed as a Mental Shutdown victim in her police report, you know.”

“Does it say ‘suicide’?” Kurusu asked, a little challengingly. 

“...yes,” Goro said stiltedly, “But-”

“And Futaba is certain her mom lost consciousness and collapsed.”

“Her mother was also  _ overworking herself,” _ Goro snapped, “She said so herself. She could have fainted from exhaustion. Also, there’s the matter of  _ timing. _ If you’re within the cognitive world, you have no idea what is happening in the real world. Accessing cameras or the internet is impossible from the Metaverse, so how would this ‘Black Mask’ know when to time the hit for when Wakaba was  _ crossing the road?” _

Kurusu looked a bit frustrated at that piece of logic, “...maybe the death was unintentional?”

Goro felt something icy prickle down his spine, “What?”

“Maybe the death was unintentional,” Kurusu repeated, “The notes said ‘lose consciousness’... and I hear a lot of the Mental Shutdown victims go into a coma that can last months. Only a few die when they pass out in dangerous situations, right?”

“Right,” Goro murmured. 

“So, maybe Futaba’s mom wasn’t  _ supposed _ to die, but she did,” Kurusu said slowly, “Or something.”

“Or something,” Goro echoed. He forced his hands to unclench where they had balled into fists on his thighs, “Perhaps.”

Kurusu gave him a considering look, and grimaced, “I’m sorry, this is an upsetting topic for you.”

“It’s fine,” Goro said, “I’m not made of glass.” 

But you didn’t stay to hear Futaba out, Kurusu did not say, even if his gaze did. Goro evaded it, slouching in his seat and tugging his hood further down to hide his expression. 

“It’s nice to think there is a reason for why people… do what they do,” Goro explained, “I’m not saying Futaba is lying but, well.”

“Yeah,” Kurusu said, “But, personally, I think her gut feeling is right. This might be the criminal Kaneshiro mentioned, but maybe it’s not as simple as they’re a psycho murderer randomly killing people. Maybe they’re not intentionally killing people, and it just… happens.”

Goro couldn’t stop the bubble of laughter that left him, “And yet they don’t stop when it does happen.” 

Kurusu frowned, “Yeah…”

He could tell him right now, Goro thought. He looked at Kurusu. He was frowning and fiddling with his fringe, his face slightly tanned. He caught the sun well. Despite the topic he was relaxed too, trusting in Goro’s presence, even though he is this ‘psycho murderer’ they were casually discussing. If he knew… 

Goro looked away. 

“I suppose we’ll find out eventually,” he said softly, “One way or another, we’ll cross paths with them the longer we change hearts and learn the truth.”

“Yeah,” Kurusu said, “You’re right.”

The train intercom announced their destination, and Goro used the noise to conceal a quiet sigh. 

A part of him selfishly wished that day would never come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at least goro gets a bit of a breather before the angst mallet bonks him again, huh?
> 
> also goro with freckles = yes you won't change my mind


	15. AKIRA VIII: Longing

The night he returns from the beach, Akira dreams.

He’s inside of Penguin Sniper, the place completely empty and soundless despite himself and a faint familiar presence lingering behind him. But he doesn’t turn. Instead, his attention is drawn to the dartboard that’s in front of him, spinning as if it’s a lottery wheel. The dart in Akira’s hand feels heavy, a tool meant to find its target no matter what. He knows intricately well that however he throws it, the dart _will_ hit the board. The question is: _where?_

There’s suddenly a hand wrapping around his waist, slow and sensual. Akira doesn’t so much as flinch, instead his eyes slip shut as he soaks in the warmth of the familiar presence at his back, no question as to who it is. He’s not sure _how_ he knows, but the fingers dipping beneath his shirt are intimately familiar, and the lips caressing the shell of his ear are as recognizable as the beat of his own heart.

“What are you waiting for, Kurusu?” Akechi purrs, hand sliding higher up Akira’s chest, causing him to sharply inhale. “Haven’t you waited long enough?”

Still Akira hesitates, something unexplainable stopping him. It’s hovering like an ominous promise in the room, telling him that something isn’t quite right.

“You trust me, don’t you?” Akechi asks softly, breath ghosting the shell of his ear and hand sliding down to toy with Akira’s waistband. “You’d never betray me.”

Akira leans back into him despite the pricking of his skin warning of danger. Instead of fleeing he welcomes it, shivering as Akechi moves down to latch his lips onto the skin of his neck.

“I have no reason to,” Akira tells him, whimpering as Akechi’s teeth graze his sensitive skin. He’s moments away from grabbing Akechi by the hair and begging him to bite down when Akechi lifts his head once more to whisper into his ear:

“Throw the dart, Kurusu.”

So, he does.

It lands perfectly in the middle of the image of a watermelon, and a quiet thrill travels through him as Akechi gives a pleased hum.

“Exactly as I expected,” Akechi says, once again ducking his head down to nip at Akira’s neck. Akira tilts his head to give him more room, his every nerve ending on fire, only to end up cold and alone when Akechi smirks into the skin of his neck and abruptly releases him. “This should be fun.”

And the moment the words leave Akechi’s mouth, Akira’s legs are knocked out from under him and his back thumps hard against the soft sand of the beach. Above him, the sky is a clear blue, the sun bright overhead. It’s blinding and hard to look directly at, even though its warmth is welcome, at least until a new warmth settles across his waist and Akechi’s head comes into view, blocking out the light of the sun.

Akira’s hands navigate to his hips, and when Akechi leans forward and gently places his hand against Akira’s neck almost curiously, Akira gasps and his hips thrust up involuntarily. There isn’t enough friction and he _needs_ Akechi to move down just slightly more, and he _knows_ that Akechi is refusing to do it on purpose. He meets Akechi’s eyes with an open challenge and moves to sit up only to have Akechi place a hand on his chest and roughly push him back.

“Your prize is something different,” Akechi says softly as Akira is left staring up at him in surprise. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

Without warning, Akechi’s weight is gone from his body and Akira whines at his sudden absence, reaching for him to no avail as Akechi slips from his grasp like water. Yet, as Akira sits up, he finds Akech sitting with his legs spread wide in the sand.

“Come here, Akira,” he purrs, gesturing him forward with a single gloved finger. As if compelled by a force beyond his control, Akira crawls toward him desperately.

Once he’s happily situated between his spread legs, Akira touches the bare skin with reverence. With the way he’s sitting, Akechi’s shorts have slid all the way up to the crease of his hips, revealing the full expanse of his long legs. Akira trails his fingers from ankle to knee, before his eyes focus in on the muscle of his thigh. Heart buzzing frantically in his chest, Akira slowly leans down and presses his lips to his inner thigh, only to have Akechi grab him by the hair and yank his head back up. The pain from his scalp is immediate and sharp, and Akira gasps and grinds uselessly into the sand.

“That’s not part of our deal,” Akechi says softly, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“What deal?” Akira manages, finding himself unexpectedly on his back in the sand again, his head resting at the junction between Akechi’s thigh and hip. He has no idea how it happened, but he doesn’t think to question it.

“You were the one who threw the dart, Akira,” Akechi says in way of explanation, leaning in close and gently caressing Akira’s jaw with a gloved hand. “You wanted this.” He leans in even closer, lips only a breath away from Akira’s own as he purrs, “You want _me_.”

Akira swallows thickly and nods, unable to deny it.

Only, at his admittance, Akechi’s expression goes distant and unreadable, and when he pulls back his thighs tighten around Akira’s neck. Feeling the raw power in them, Akira scrabbles for purchase in the sand, his chest heaving in unrestrained excitement. In response, Akechi’s thighs tighten even further, increasing the pressure on his neck and starting to stifle his airflow. It’s dizzying, and yet all Akira can think to do is mindlessly beg him to apply more force as he reaches down and palms himself through the material of his pants.

“Look at you, you’re actually enjoying this aren’t you?” Akechi sneers, yanking Akira’s hair and earning a strangled moan. “Completely at my mercy, panting like a dog for whatever scraps of attention I’m willing to give.” His legs tighten further and Akira chokes feebly. “It’s _pathetic_.”

Akira can no longer breathe, but although his vision is growing spotty, he quickens the speed and pressure of his hand and knows he’s on the cusp of release.

“Have you had enough yet?” Akechi asks harshly through the blinding crescendo of sensations. “Or are you really dumb enough to keep going?”

“You already...know...the answer to that,” he manages to gasp through strangled breaths.

Akechi leans in close. “I do,” he purrs, his breath dusting across his face and the warmth of his palm caressing his cheek tenderly. “We know everything about each other, don’t we?”

The last thing Akira sees is Akechi’s lips spreading into a grin sharper than the edge of any knife before-

...he wakes up gasping, Mona flying off of him and hitting the ground with a startled yowl.

“Joker!?”

“Bathroom, m’fine,” he mutters, tearing himself out of bed and hurrying down the stairs.

“I knew you shouldn’t have eaten that weird-looking beach kebab!” Mona calls after him.

Akira ignores him in favor of concentrating on his current predicament. Every movement sends a jolt through him as he descends the stairs, but he manages to make it into the bathroom and slams the door behind him.

He quickly takes himself out of his pants, hissing as he does since he’s already achingly hard. This won’t be the first time he’s done this while thinking about Akechi, but he’s pretty sure he’s never been this hard before in his life and that’s without having even really touched himself yet.

When he wraps a hand around himself he releases an involuntary gasp and he quickly shoves his fist in his mouth to stifle any other sounds he might make.

Closing his eyes, he allows the dream to come back to him, vibrant and visceral. Imagines it’s Akechi’s hand around him instead of his own, imagines Akechi’s voice in his ear calling him pathetic and softly murmuring that he’d ruin him for anyone else. Pictures the feeling of his thighs wrapping around his neck almost tenderly before squeezing until Akira couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe-

He strokes himself fast and hurried, and it doesn’t take him long before he comes while biting his fist with a muffled cry of Akechi’s name.

When he’s finished, he slumps hard against the bathroom wall, and when his legs give out he slides to the floor. As he tries to catch his breath and stop himself from shaking, it occurs to him that he’d been thinking of inviting Akechi to play darts which...would explain the dartboard in his dream. It probably would be for the best if he...avoided inviting Akechi to Penguin Sniper for at least a few days.

He groans, once again reminded of _penguins_ , and Akechi looming over him with his fingers in his mouth and a knife in his hand.

“I’m so fucked up,” Akira mutters to himself, hitting the back of his head against the wall.

***

The rest of summer vacation passes by much faster than he’d like. He shows up to Goro’s apartment every morning without fail, sometimes with another member of the group or sometimes only with Morgana. It’s a routine that he’d been thinking foolishly that he’d be able to keep up into the upcoming school year; although, Akechi had very quickly put an end to that idea the moment he’d mentioned it.

 _“Kurusu you are not showing up at my apartment at five in the morning before class,”_ he had said very seriously.

 _“It won’t be that much of a problem...”_ Akira had tried to argue only to be silenced by a pointed glare. _“Then how about I just move in-”_

 _“Try it and I’ll bolt the door and never let you in here again.”_ Akechi had cut him off, tone sickeningly sweet. Then his expression had dropped into something much more honest as he added, _“I’ll be_ fine _, Kurusu.”_

And so, that had been the end of that.

Now school was back in session, and apparently the whispers about him and his record still permeated the halls as if they’d never left at all.

_“I heard that over the summer someone saw him in a gang.”_

_“I think he went back to his hometown but they sent him back here again because they couldn’t handle him.”_

_“He’s pretty quiet, but it’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for.”_

And here Akira had figured that the summer would be long enough for them to forget, but apparently not. It wasn’t even surprising anymore, just tiring.

He’s sitting in his classroom during lunch when he feels the familiar feeling of eyes on his back again. He doesn’t need to hear the whispers to know that they’re either talking about him or quietly sizing him up and judging. Always _judging_. To distract himself, he pulls out his phone and sends a quick message to Akechi- the one person who had the ability to get his mind off everything else.

_**[1135] Me** **:** Are you doing anything tonight?_

It’s only been a little over two days since the last time he’s seen him and yet there’s a part of him that undeniably misses him already. It’s a little pathetic, Akira is fully able to admit that, but he’d become so accustomed to seeing him every day that now he’s stuck adjusting to the fact that that’s just not possible anymore. And, not for the first time, Akira finds himself wishing that Akechi went to Shujin.

He’d for one, look _great_ in the uniform.

And secondly, Akira would get to see him every day without fail. Maybe Akechi would even come in to visit him at lunch, bending over the neighboring desk to _talk_ to him and putting his ass in plain view while acting as if he had no idea what he was doing. Yet, while everyone would notice, Akechi would only have eyes for Akira.

Because Akira would have _all_ of his attention. Always.

And...Akira would make him lunch. He normally only ever really ate bread he bought at the school store, but for Akechi he’d make the effort to do more. If he couldn’t make him breakfast every morning, then he’d have to settle for making him lunch.

Akechi would sit across from him to eat, and he’d act as if he didn’t need Akira constantly coddling him. But he’d still show up every single day without fail. It’d certainly give all his classmates something else to whisper about. That, or maybe Akechi would be upset by the constant whispers and baseless rumors. He’d fearlessly tell them all to shut up, all smooth graceful confidence and pure seething anger, like how he stood up to those guys at the beach, and everyone would _listen_. Then he’d sit back down as if nothing had happened and Akira would reach over and take his hand. Akechi’s eyes would go adorably wide at the sudden unexpected act of affection, and Akira would take the opportunity to rise from his seat, leaning over the desk and finally claiming his lips-

His phone suddenly vibrates on his desk, startling him out of his thoughts. Peering at the screen, he realizes with a stupid fluttery feeling in his chest that Akechi has responded.

_**[1141] Akechi:** I might be free this evening._

_**[1141] Akechi:** There’s a bathhouse outside of Leblanc, correct?_

_**[1142] Me:** Yeah, why?_

_**[1143] Akechi:** My apartment doesn’t have a bath and I could use one right about now. Would you mind accompanying me tonight?_

Akira freezes, his hands hovering over the keyboard. He was kidding...right? He couldn’t actually be serious. Well he supposes guys normally went to the bathhouse together, he’d gone a few times with Ryuji and Yusuke and that had never been a big deal. But this was _Akechi_.

Akechi would be naked.

In a bath with him.

“Joker, are you okay?” Mona asks from inside of his desk, peering at him in clear concern. “Why do you look like you ate something bad again?”

“M’fine,” Akira mutters low enough that no one else would be able to hear him talking to the cat that was absolutely not hidden inside of his desk. Before he can think better of it, he types out his response to Akechi and hits send.

_**[1145] Me:** We can do that._

As soon as the message is sent, he numbly places his phone back on his desk and sits back in his chair. It’s not like it was something he could ever say _no_ to without regretting it for the rest of his sad existence, when else would he ever get the opportunity to see Akechi naked. Akira could handle it. Really.

It’d probably be fine.

***

Akira was decidedly _not_ fine.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking but this was an awful idea. Way better- no _worse_ , so much worse than he imagined. Because Akechi looked, Akechi was-

 _Fuck_.

“Are you _shy_ , Kurusu?” Akechi asks him, looking amused as he stands in front of him in nothing more than a thin white towel wrapped around his waist. Akira had just seen what was under that towel and this was single-handedly the best-worst day of his entire life. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be the type.”

Akira swallows thickly.

Goro Akechi was naked. And Akira needed to finish getting undressed himself but Akechi was _naked_ and that unforgettable fact was making it _very_ hard to make his brain remember how to functionally do anything else.

Akira just can’t stop _looking_.

Akechi is all toned lean muscle and perfect skin with the slightest hint of freckles. There are a few scars and injuries that seem to be mostly healed or faded adorning his waist, and Akira knew he’d been hiding them under his clothes and yet now he has the want to run his fingers gently overtop of them followed by his lips and _fuck-_

Quickly turning around before Akechi’s expectantly amused expression can turn into something else, Akira quickly strips off the rest of his clothes before he can think too hard about the eyes on him as he does so. He’d never really been self-conscious, and quite frankly modesty is suddenly the least of his concerns when he’s pretty sure he’s in the danger of popping one in the middle of the bathhouse and he needed to make sure that...didn’t happen. Considering if it did happen he’d very likely need to fake his own death and escape Tokyo without ever looking back- if he didn’t happen to die from mortification before he even got the chance.

After hastily wrapping a towel around his waist, he moves over to one of the stools for the mini shower, refusing to remove the towel, just in case he...needed it. Akechi scoffs and settles down on the stool directly next to him, his towel now completely gone from around his waist. With an undignified squeak that Akira desperately hopes Akechi doesn’t hear, he looks away and busies himself by grabbing his soap and beginning to lather up as quickly as possible.

“The great Joker is a stickler for modesty,” Akechi says, sounding thoroughly entertained. “Who would have thought?”

“I’d just rather get into the bath as quickly as possible today,” Akira half mumbles as he concentrates on getting soap throughout his mess of curls and _not_ on the very naked Akechi sitting close enough for him to reach over and touch.

 _Don’t think about it,_ Akira reminds himself desperately. _Don’t think about it._

Akechi hums. “Any particular reason you’re in a rush?”

“Stressful day?” Akira tries, throwing him a sheepish smile, very careful to keep his mind empty and his eyes firmly focused on his…very intense wine-red eyes. Even his _eyes_ were pretty, Akira was so entirely fucked.

“I can understand that,” Akechi tells him, luckily not calling his bluff. “How have your classes been?” He adds after a moment.

“About the same, just not really ready to be back in school I guess,” Akira says in a half-truth. There were reasons that school was stressful for him even in the days immediately following summer break. But they were things he didn’t feel much like getting into now, and so he tries to take the focus off of himself. “How are you handling being back in school with everything else you have going on?”

“I always manage,” Akechi tells him calmly as he begins to run soap through his perfectly soft-looking hair. “Although...it hasn’t even been a week and can you believe that they’ve attempted to assign us a group project already?” He scoffs, clear annoyance seeping into his tone. “As if I don’t have enough to worry about with my own work, I’m not going to sit there and depend on others to pull their weight for _my_ grade.”

“Not a team-player, Akechi?” Akira asks, not quite able to hold back his grin.

“Don’t play coy, Joker,” Akechi says, shooting him a hard look. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Yeah, I was never a fan of them either,” Akira finally agrees, starting to rinse off some of his soap with the hand shower. “What’s wrong with the people you’re working with?”

_“Well-”_

And so he starts, and once Akechi starts- he keeps going. Akira is suddenly very grateful for that adorable trait of his because it helps him not have to focus on the conversation other than adding a few nods and sounds of agreement as Akira focuses on _other_ things. Namely, turning his brain completely off until he can have his lower half safely submerged in the pool of water.

He finishes his mini shower in record time, Akechi clearly having matched his speed since he too finishes in time to walk over to the bath with Akira.

Akechi is still rattling off the list of problems with his classmates, which Akira is pretty sure has somehow turned into a full-blown rant about his school and the education system in general, when Akira quickly rips off his towel and enters the water. Relieved to have finally submerged his lower half in the warm water, it occurs to him that he’s not really sure if he’s grateful or terrified that he and Akechi seem to be the only two people in here. Akechi steps into the water and Akira forgets for a moment that he’s not supposed to be _looking_ , and he swallows thickly as all the blood in his system seems to want to rush to his lower regions. This was fine, he was fine.

Akechi continues _talking_ and while Akira normally loves hearing him talk, he finds that he can no longer comprehend a single word coming out of his mouth.

Akechi’s skin is _glistening_. A roadmap of pale freckled skin that looks soft to the touch. Akira wonders how it would taste if he were to move just a little closer and run his tongue from Akechi’s chest up to his jawline. Wonders how his perfect body, that he now knew the _look of_ intimately well, would feel beneath the water. Wonders what noises Akechi would make if he wrapped his hand around-

In front of him, like his own living version of a wet dream, Akechi pauses his rant to give a long stretch and releases a small _nnh_ sound.

Fuck.

Akira shifts slightly in the water, bending his leg in a way he hopes will hide his current...predicament.

He can never stand up from the water ever again. The place could catch on fire and he’d still never leave, this small pool of water would be his tomb and somehow he was kind of okay with that. Dying to the image of Goro Akechi’s perfect naked body seemed like a pretty good way to go. Certainly better than the death per pure mortification he’d get if he were to stand up right now.

If worst came to worst he thinks that drowning himself might actually be the better of two options.

This was either heaven or some weird original form of torture. Akechi had to know what he was doing and was fucking with him, there was no other possible explanation. Why else would he suggest the bathhouse? Why else would he bring his perfectly toned body and decide to put it in the same pool of heated water as Akira’s own less toned body and then make little sounds in the back of his throat that Akira should not legally be allowed to hear.

He knows he should be looking away instead of sitting here drooling over Akechi like some sort of pervert. But he’s almost positive he’ll never get a chance like this again.

“Kurusu.” Akira blinks into awareness at the sound of his name only to see Akechi viewing him with a frankly offended expression. “I’m sorry, am I boring you?”

“Huh, what?”

“You’re not even listening,” Akechi says with a frown. Crossing his arms he looks down into the water and adds, “You’re not paying attention to me.”

 _Oh my god, he’s pouting,_ Akira’s mind helpfully supplies.

His internal crisis comes to a screeching halt as Akira is suddenly confronted with what might be the most adorable thing he’s ever witnessed in all his years of living. Goro Akechi was _sulking_ because Akira was too horny to listen to whatever it was he’d been saying.

He’s not really sure what his life has become, but Akira isn’t complaining because Akechi is not only a wet dream come to life, but also absolutely _adorable_.

Akira has the sudden urge to hug him. To take him into his arms and make it so Akechi’s head was safely nestled into the crook of his neck, holding him until his sulk went away and he melted into him. Of course, that would be a fucking awful idea considering...everything. Still, it’s what Akira wishes he could do as he finds his expression softening into a small smile. And yet as he does so, a sobering thought crosses his mind that he remembers he had been planning on mentioning to Akechi today.

“You know, I’m leaving for Hawaii tomorrow,” Akira says, his tone gentle. His words seem to distract Akechi from his sulk, and he meets his eyes. “It’s for the school trip, I think I’ve mentioned it before?”

“You have,” Akechi tells him, his eyes narrowing. “And there’s no need to look so worried. You are aware I’ve survived most of my life without you breathing down my neck like a dog.”

Yet despite the harshness of his words on the surface, Akira grins. He knew Akechi enough at this point to know that his prickliness usually served as a mask to hide something else he didn’t want others to know he was feeling.

Or more particularly-

“You’re going to miss me,” Akira says as a fact, not a question.

Akechi seems startled by his declaration, up until the point that his expression morphs into a harsh glare.

“Am not.”

“Admit it.”

“I will do no such thing,” Akechi says, crossing his arms and bristling in a way that Akira finds absolutely adorable. “Your presence has been tolerable, don’t flatter yourself by suggesting anything more.”

“Okay, hedgehog,” Akira can’t stop himself from saying.

The reaction he earns is instantaneous. Akechi immediately turns red, shooting him another glare before looking away and avoiding his eyes altogether.

Slowly, Akira can feel his teasing expression turn into something much softer. All his joking aside, Akira _did_ worry about Akechi. And while he didn’t doubt Akechi’s ability to take care of himself...he also knew of at least a few concerning things in the way that Akechi chose to live. Between the underage binge drinking, the mysterious bruises and injuries he was defensive about, and the fact that Akechi lived without any food in his cabinets besides noodles- Akira thinks it’s perfectly reasonable for him to be a little worried over Akechi’s wellbeing.

Still, it was getting late and Akira had a flight to catch at an ungodly hour of the night that was very much past his normal bedtime.

“We should probably get going,” Akira tells him, somewhat regretfully.

Akechi agrees, and somehow Akira manages to keep himself together as they step out of the bath, avoiding looking at Akechi’s glistening naked form the best that he can. And from there, they both quickly get dressed, exchanging a few words but nothing of significant importance.

It’s not long before they’re both fully dressed once more, standing outside of the bathhouse. The sun is just starting to set, and it covers everything in a warm orange glow, deepening the shade of Akechi’s still damp hair and illuminating the light of his eyes. Something that might be his heart flutters inside Akira’s chest cavity, and despite the fact they were literally just naked with each other, he finds himself nervous for a reason he can’t really discern.

“I’ll see you when you return,” Akechi tells him evenly, standing there in the backstreets of Leblanc with his briefcase still in hand. He looks a little out of place with it out here, and Akira finds it slightly more cute than he probably should.

“Yeah,” Akira says and pauses. “You’re not going to ignore my texts right?”

Akechi hums. “Would it upset you if I did?”

“I’d be devastated,” Akira tells him, tone flat. “I’d never recover.”

“What a disastrous fate for the leader of the elusive Phantom Thieves,” Akechi responds with a sharp grin. “I suppose it’d be in my best interest to not let that happen.”

Akira smiles.

“Okay,” he says.

Akechi rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath that Akira doesn’t quite catch, before he finally turns and walks away.

Akira watches him until he turns the street corner and vanishes completely from sight.

***

That night, Akira discovers that the airport is still pretty crowded despite it being as late as it is in the evening. He’s never been to many airports before, since truthfully, Akira’s never really flown much of anywhere. His parents have, but it’s not as if they ever took him with them.

Still, although he knows he should be excited for the trip ahead, his mind is still defective by all common standards and so it keeps going back to its absolute favorite topic of inner torture.

“Ann, he’s too perfect,” Akira tells her since Morgana had to stay behind with Futaba, which left Akira without his favorite feline companion who normally listened to all his problems. “I don’t know how to handle this.”

“Akira,” Ann says with a very long-suffering sigh. “Please just confess to him already.”

Akira frowns but doesn’t say anything, and so the two of them descend into silence. He knows that asking him out would be the most logical course of action, and probably the very same advice he’d give to any one of his friends if they were in this same situation. But they just didn’t _understand_ his and Akechi’s relationship. They didn’t realize how much Akira worried about him, and how terrified he was of doing something to make Akechi push him away. Akechi trusted him enough right now to let Akira get close and keep an eye on him, and he’d never forgive himself if he did something to ruin that.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Akira asks after a few moments pass. “While I’m gone, I mean.”

“Oh my god.”

“I asked Mona to stay with Akechi to look after him for me,” Akira continues, “but he just said that they’d probably kill each other.”

“He’s probably right about that at least,” Ann says. She pauses then, a contemplative expression crossing her face as if she’d just thought of something. “By the way, it looks like we’re going to be taking off soon, and is it just me, or is Ryuji not here yet?”

Akira blinks. Honestly he...hadn’t even been paying attention. Which probably wasn’t the best considering that Akechi, Yusuke, and Morgana weren’t here with them which meant that Ryuji and Ann were literally the only two of his close friends he was supposed to be keeping an eye on. And yet, apparently, he’d already failed miserably on that aspect. Go figure.

However, before he can lie to Ann very casually by telling her that he’d very much been aware Ryuji was missing this entire time, a familiar form comes running towards them as if on cue.

“I wasn’t expectin’ to make a mad dash like this…” Ryuji says as he reaches them, clearly out of breath.

“Coming late even on a day like this?” Ann asks him, her voice filled with clear disappointment. Ryuji seems to shrink down a little under the force of her stare, but before he can come out with some grand explanation no doubt- their attention is stolen as none other than Mishima comes walking up to them.

At the sight of him, Akira can’t help but brace himself as if he’s preparing for battle. In a way, Mishima was like his business manager who made sure to detail their every conversation with little hints like: _don’t you think you should be doing more for the Phantom Thieves?_ Even if he never outright said it like that, it was still heavily implied, and Akira could do without the constant reminders that his leadership skills, while improving, were still something he struggled with. He knows that Mishima was only trying to help, but still he would prefer it if he stopped...doing that.

Luckily, Mishima doesn’t mention anything to that extent, instead he just says, “Hey guys, they want us to gather near the boarding gate soon,” before he turns and seems to head there himself. Akira releases a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding.

“Why don’t we take a group shot before we take off?” Ann suggests.

Quickly agreeing, Akira decides to take the picture with his phone and both Ann and Ryuji come up behind him to fit into frame. After the picture is taken and Futaba reveals via text that she apparently has his phone bugged- which isn’t at all disturbing- Akira decides to send the photo to Akechi.

Accompanying the photo Akira adds a short message.

_**[2322] Me:** Wish you were coming with us!_

To his surprise, Akechi’s response is almost immediate.

_**[2323] Akechi:** So, I see you’re still at the airport._

_**[2323] Me:** And I see you’re still awake_

_**[2324] Akechi:** I’m finishing up an assignment and then I’ll sleep._

_**[2324] Me:** You’re going to be tired tomorrow_

_**[2324] Akechi:** I’m always tired._

Akira snorts.

“Akira, would you stop texting your boyfriend and come on already?” Looking up from his screen, Akira spots Ryuji gesturing for him to hurry up, Ann standing with her luggage a few feet behind him. “Our flight’s about to leave!”

Mentally preparing himself for the long flight ahead of him that he was definitely planning on sleeping through, Akira quickly types out one last message to Akechi.

_**[2325] Me:** Our flight’s about to leave but I’ll let you know when we land_

He watches the incoming text ellipses appear and disappear several times as he checks to make sure he has everything with him. 

_**[2326] Akechi:** The number of people killed in commercial plane crashes has significantly dropped in the past years._

_**[2326] Akechi:** You’ll be fine._

Akira smiles to himself before hurrying after the others.

***

A very long flight and a day spent at check-in later, Akira finds himself wishing that an asteroid would fall from the sky and end his cursed existence.

Apparently, Akira has possibly the worst luck in the entire world, this was the only explanation as to how he ended up stuck rooming with _Mishima_ of all people. And, of course, because he’s cursed, Mishima ends up talking nonstop about the Phantom Thieves and the Phansite while Akira stands there and pretends to be interested.

“On the contrary, did you hear about Akechi, that detective against the Thieves?” Mishima says, finally grabbing the full force of Akira’s attention at the name. “The good-looking one.”

Akira blinks.

 _Did Mishima really just call him good-looking?_ he thinks to himself. Honestly, he’s a little surprised that Mishima would openly admit Akechi was attractive considering his borderline concerning obsession with the female populace...but Akira supposes that he isn’t _blind_.

“His popularity plummeted after Medjed was dealt with,” Mishima continues. “Supposedly his official blog’s up in flames. He posed as some hero of justice, but that’s what he gets for not seeing eye to eye with them.”

At his words, Akira feels the familiar simmering anger rise from the surface. If only he knew. If only _anyone_ knew what the hell they were talking about. But no, _nobody_ knew anything about Akechi, and yet they found it necessary to talk about him as if they did. Akira suddenly finds himself with the completely insane urge to tell Mishima that Goro Akechi was a vital member of the Phantom Thieves, just to watch him backpedal and take back everything he just said.

He won’t, but he _wants_ to.

“To be blunt, I can’t focus on this trip,” Mishima continues, completely oblivious to the shift in Akira’s mood. “I keep thinking about the Phantom Thieves. Don’t you think about them too?”

Akira takes a very deep breath.

“Yeah…” he says as he exhales slowly, and then he stops listening altogether as Mishima once again responds in far too many words.

At the very least, Mishima had gotten one thing right, and that was that Akechi was extremely good-looking. And while it was a logical conclusion for anyone with eyes to make, Akira can’t help but feel a little uneasy at the comment. Hearing a somewhat _obsessive_ person like Mishima openly admit something like that is...concerning.

Akira frowns.

Taking his phone from his pocket, and thankful that Mishima seems to be done talking to him for the moment, he does the quick mental math to make sure Akechi would still be awake. Hawaii was 19 hours behind Japan, so it’d be 5 pm for him, which was a perfectly reasonable time for Akira to text and ask him directly.

_**[2212] Me:** Mishima isn’t your type, right?_

Akira watches the incoming text ellipses appear and disappear several times while anticipation tugs at him. While he’s aware he’s being completely ridiculous, he suddenly has the mental image of Mishima asking Akechi out before he gets the chance to, and he doesn’t like that thought. He doesn’t like that thought at all.

_**[2213] Akechi:** Who?_

_**[2213] Me:** The one who runs the phansite_

_**[2213] Akechi:** And you’re asking me this, why?_

_**[2214] Me:** No reason_

_**[2214] Me:** You’re avoiding the question_

_**[2215] Akechi:** Kurusu I don’t even know him. And even if I did, I doubt he’d be my type._

_**[2215] Me:** Because he’s a guy?_

He types the words and hits send before he can think better of it, and curses himself after the fact.

 _Very smooth Akira,_ he tells himself. He _swears_ he used to be cool.

_**[2216] Akechi:** You seem to be in a prying mood today._

_**[2216] Me:** Sorry, you don’t have to answer that._

There’s no response for several heart-stopping moments and Akira’s left to wonder if he just royally fucked things up. Only before he can hastily type out some sort of apology, Akechi’s response pops up and Akira’s breath catches in his throat.

_**[2217] Akechi:** No, my reasons have nothing to do with his gender._

_**[2217] Me:** Oh._

_**[2217] Me:** Okay, then what are your reasons?_

_**[2218] Akechi:** Goodnight, Kurusu._

_You’re an idiot,_ Akira thinks to himself the minute he closes the chat, flopping backwards onto his bed and grinning like a true fool with the world’s absolute worst crush. 

***

The majority of the next morning passes by in a mindless blur, Akira’s mind far too preoccupied with trying to puzzle out last night’s events to concentrate on anything else.

Through sheer luck, Akira managed to escape the hotel room without Mishima latching onto him like some sort of Phantom Thief-obsessed leech. Normally he only had to entertain Mishima for small bouts of time, and trying to withstand his constant talk about the Phantom Thieves was not something he’d been expecting to have to do. It’s a little like living a constant horror movie, never knowing when he was lurking in the shadows just waiting for his chance to pounce and talk Akira’s ear off. Luckily the Phantom Thieves could be famous while remaining under the blanket of anonymity, because if he actually had to deal with fans like this on the regular, Akira’s pretty sure he would have faked his own death by now.

And yet successful escape attempt aside, Mishima was currently among the least of his worries.

It’d been...a long night.

“Hey man, you doin’ okay?” Ryuji asks, peering at him in concern the moment Akira walks up to him and Ann in the hotel lobby.

“Akechi sent me fake nudes,” he mumbles, still in a state of emotional distress over it.

“Woah, seriously!?” Ryuji says with way too much pure excitement, which makes Akira think he might have heard him wrong.

“I said ask him out, not ask him for nudes, Akira,” Ann tells him, giving him an exasperated look.

“I didn’t!” Akira quickly defends himself. “He just sent them to me out of nowhere after I was already asleep!”

And when his phone had gone off and woken him up at nearly one in the morning, it certainly hadn’t been what he’d expected to see. In his sleep-addled brain, before he could comprehend Akechi’s message, he thought he had sent him _actual_ nudes, and he’d briefly considered the possibility that he was in another wet dream.

But no, no that had not been the case.

“Wait, let me see,” Ann says, holding out her open palm between them. Taking out his phone, Akira navigates to his message history with Akechi before handing it over to her. She almost immediately blinks silently at the screen in clear surprise, and although Akira knows exactly what she’s looking at by heart, he joins Ryuji in reading it again from over her shoulder.

_**[0037] Akechi:** By the way, if you see any explicit images of me on the internet, they’re fake._

That message is, of course, followed by a chain of photoshopped images of Akechi naked. Each and every one of them adorned with the _‘cool’_ smiley emoji, the one with the sunglasses, placed tactfully overtop of the lewd bits for censorship. Between each photo, Akechi provided a small explanation on how he could tell they were fake, with descriptions such as: _this one’s fake because the body’s all wrong,_ or _this one is slightly blurred around the edges which is a clear sign of photoshop,_ and so on.

Akira...did not understand why he’d sent any of it. It’s not like any of the pictures were even hot, especially since he’d already actually seen Akechi naked, and so he was just left very _confused_.

“Oh wow um, this _is_ weird,” Ann says, and Akira’s a little glad that she seems as baffled as he is. She scrolls up in the message history, looking at the last of the conversation they’d had about Mishima a little over two hours before that. “So...you asked him if Mishima was his type...and then without context, two hours later, he starts telling you how to tell if nudes are fake with explicit examples?”

“Yeah.”

“...Maybe this is flirting?” She suggests, sounding distinctly unsure.

“Sounds to me like Akechi’s just really _bad_ at flirting,” Ryuji says, and both Akira and Ann turn to stare at him.

“You know,” Ann says, “I think you might actually be right, Ryuji.”

“ _This_ is flirting?” Akira asks, not at all sure how they were both coming to this same conclusion. He might not know _what_ to think, but this whole thing being some strange method of flirting was not something he had considered.

“Yeah, but he’s so bad at it that it comes off weird,” Ryuji tells him with a grin, looking entirely too entertained by this.

Akira was still not reassured.

“Okay,” Ann says as she scrolls through the photos again, ”I will say that the emoji censor is pretty funny.”

“Yeah,” Ryuji quickly agrees, “It was nice of him to censor his nudes for you.”

Akira barely represses the need to bury his face in his hands. “Please...don’t say it like that,” he pleads weakly. “They’re fake nudes. Not real.”

“You sound kind of disappointed about that,” Ann tells him with a smile that tells him she’s definitely laughing at him. His friends were assholes, he wishes Morgana were here.

“I’m not,” he mutters, knowing whatever he said was just going to fall on deaf ears anyway.

“Anyway,” Ryuji says after a moment. “Why were you askin’ him bout’ Mishima?”

“Mishima called Akechi attractive last night,” he tells him honestly, earning an instantaneous reaction.

“Yo for real!?” Ryuji exclaims, loud enough to catch the attention of several other people in the lobby. “Hey, so you think he might be, you know…” he makes a strange nondescript gesture with his hands and Ann makes an annoyed sound in response.

“Ugh Ryuji, just because he says Goro is good-looking doesn’t mean he’s _into_ him. Right, Akira?”

“You don’t think that he is?” Akira asks, turning to look at her in surprise.

“Seriously?” She responds, tone flat.

“Eh, it’s probably fine,” Ryuji tells him with a grin. “It’s not like you have anything to worry about, man. Right, Yusuke?” He pauses as they all turn to look at the latest addition to their group. “Wait, what the hell?”

Sure enough, Yusuke is standing there with them despite the fact that he was supposed to have been taking his school trip to Los Angeles. It should have been impossible for him to have ended up here no matter the circumstances, and it’s this sheer impossibility that has Akira instantly perking up and looking around for a different member of the Phantom Thieves. It’s a completely dumb reaction to have since Akechi and Yusuke didn’t even go to the same school, but still...

“You think maybe Akechi will turn up too?” Akira asks the group a little too hopefully.

“Why would Goro be here?” Ann responds, tone a mix of exasperated and openly curious. As if she’s giving Akira the benefit of the doubt that Akechi would have a legitimate reason to show up.

With a sheepish smile, Akira shrugs and says, “I don’t know, maybe he has a case here or something?”

“In Hawaii?” Ann asks in complete monotone.

Akira shrugs again, shoving his hands in his pockets and frowning down at the floor. “It could happen.”

Strange and confusing previous conversation with Akechi aside, Akira still found himself missing him. Even when he was in school he still knew he had the option to see Akechi if he really wanted to, even if neither of them really had the time in their schedules for it. But knowing that Akechi was an ocean away, all the way back in Japan...it bothered him more than it probably should.

“It is reasonable that you would prefer I was Akechi,” Yusuke tells him. “I can pretend if you’d like. Allow me a moment to get into character-”

“No! No, that’s fine,” Akira quickly stops him before he has the chance to be scarred for the rest of his life. “Please don’t.”

“Hmm it really is a shame though,” Yusuke continues, thankfully seeming to drop his impromptu impersonation idea. “Perhaps the ambiance of Hawaii would have finally officiated your relationship.”

Akira chokes on air.

“Unless...this means it’s already official?” Yusuke adds mercilessly, looking straight at Akira and either ignoring or not caring about Akira’s sudden coughing fit. Ryuji at least gives him a hard slap on the back like a real pal.

“Yusuke, _please_ ,” Akira begs once he can manage words again.

“They’re both too dense for that,” Ann says to him.

Yusuke frowns in response, seeming to be upset by this revelation.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Ryuji says in an obvious attempt to change the topic, marking himself as a true friend in the process. “Yusuke, what the hell are you even doing here?”

And as Yusuke tells them about his flight to Los Angeles being canceled due to the weather, Akira finds himself once again thoughtlessly scanning the crowd for the person he _knows_ won’t be showing up. He catches Ann looking at him a few times as he does so, but it’s only when they’re leaving the hotel to go for a walk after deciding to go shopping, that she finally comes up beside him.

“Hey, besides the whole...nudes thing, are you doing okay?” She asks gently.

Akira shrugs, reaching up to fiddle with his fringe. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she says, sounding like she believes him about as much as she should. “It’s about Goro isn’t it?”

“Why does everyone always assume it’s Akechi?” He does not whine, because Akira was a very mature individual and absolutely did _not_ ever whine. Ann just gives him a look and he quickly flips through his brain for a lie. “I decided it wouldn’t be the best idea to try to smuggle Morgana onto the plane and now I’m regretting not trying,” he comes out with after a moment. “It was always his dream to visit Hawaii and now I feel like a failure of a pet owner.”

“It was Morgana’s dream to visit Hawaii?” She repeats back flatly.

Akira offers her a sheepish smile.

“He wanted to see the fish?”

Of course the mention of fish instantly brings up thoughts of Akechi on the beach, in the aquarium, and...other things, which is a very odd association for his brain to have in hindsight.

Akira was starting to think he might actually have a problem. He’d had crushes before but none of them had ever felt like this. It was intense on an almost terrifying level and, for as much as he tried, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Akechi. It was dumb. Incredibly, ridiculously, dumb.

Ann gives him a long hard look. “Don’t freak out. But Akira do you think you might be-”

“Hey look!” Ryuji calls from up ahead, cutting off whatever it was Ann had been about to say. “It’s Big Bang Burger!”

Akira, grateful for the distraction, immediately jumps on the quick topic change.

“I’m surprised to see one outside of Japan,” he says, eyeing the building that looked almost identical to the one he passed by all the time in Shibuya. He’d eaten there a few times, but he didn’t find it to be impressive in the slightest. The challenge was always a certain test of...mental fortitude however. So, he’d tried to conquer that a few times, even if it usually ended with him feeling a bit like he was dying.

“Yeah, it’s been gettin’ real popular lately,” Ryuji says. “I guess they wanted to branch out.”

“They’re owned by Okumura Foods, correct?” Yusuke says while looking at the building thoughtfully before turning to address the group. “Were we still planning on choosing Okumura for our next target?”

Akira frowns at the name, remembering how Akechi had adversely reacted to it while they’d been at the beach. As Morgana had said, it’d almost seemed personal with how upset he’d visibly gotten, angry in a way that Akira very rarely caught glimpses of. He wasn’t quite sure what to think of it.

“Goro does seem to think he’s a pretty terrible person,” Ann mentions, echoing his thoughts. “He got really heated at the beach when we brought him up.”

“He might be a good idea for our next target then,” Ryuji says with a grin. “And since Akechi seems to hate em’ so much, he’ll probably agree.”

“We’ll talk more about it at our next meeting,” Akira finally cuts in, not liking the idea of discussing this with almost half of their group absent. “We shouldn’t decide anything right now.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Ryuji concedes, perking right back up not a moment later when he adds, “Hey, why don’t we take a pic together!? Y’know, so we can remember our trip and all!”

“Ooh, good idea!” Ann says. “Then we should make sure to send it to Goro and Futaba!”

Akira chooses to take the photo this time, not really in the mood to be in it. And after he’s finished taking the photo of the three of them, he sends it to both Futaba and Akechi without adding a caption and receives an almost immediate response from Akechi.

_**[1335] Akechi:** I see Kitagawa managed to find his way over to you_

Akira bites his lip, hands hovering over the keyboard as he thinks of what to say. _I wish you were here too,_ he types before deleting it. Instead, he types out something a bit less forward and hits send.

_**[1335] Me:** You wouldn’t happen to have a case here in the next three days, would you?_

_**[1336] Akechi:** I’m not answering that_

_**[1336] Me:** Are you doing okay?_

_**[1338] Akechi:** You worry far too much, Kurusu. Enjoy your trip._

“Yo, Akira! You comin’ with us or what?” Ryuji calls, and he lifts his gaze from his phone screen to see that the three of them were starting to walk off, clearly having decided something without him.

With a sigh, Akira pockets his phone and follows after them.

***

That night, Ryuji and Ann end up staying over in his and Mishima’s hotel room.

Honestly, Akira couldn’t be more thankful that he doesn’t have to spend another night alone with Mishima. In the time before Ann and Ryuji had appeared, Akira had been staring out the door to the balcony and debating if he’d be able to successfully jump off it and survive. Even if he died, it’d probably be preferable to having to listen to Mishima talk more about the Phantom Thieves.

Now Mishima was in the bathroom making noises that Akira would have much rather went his entire life without ever having to hear. Which left Akira out on the couch, Ann on the bed, and Ryuji laying on the floor between them. Ann was questioning Ryuji on the type of people he liked, and Akira was content to listen to him sputter through his answers, happy that he wasn’t the focus of Ann’s merciless questioning for once.

“So...dude, since we’re talking about the people we like…” Ryuji sing-songs in a way that makes Akira expect the worst. “When are you gonna ask Akechi out?”

“Not you too,” Akira sputters, realizing with quiet dread that his pathetic love life was quickly turning into a common topic of conversation between his friends. He never signed up for this.

“I hate to say it Akira, but he’s right,” Ann says, not surprising him in the least. “You really need to ask him out already.”

“Yeah! Just go for it, man!” Ryuji adds. “You know we always got your back!”

Akira tries giving them a smile, warmed by the fact that they were at least trying to be supportive, but he knows it falls short. The truth of the matter was that, for as much as they tried to push him, Akira just didn’t see him asking Akechi out anytime soon. If...ever. And that was okay. He was fine with what they were now. Really.

“And what if he says no?” Akira asks them, trying to get them to understand why he _couldn’t_. “I can’t risk our friendship and the cohesion of the team like that.”

It was kind of funny really that Akira had once been hurt that Akechi had taken his date with him at the aquarium as a team-building exercise, and yet now here Akira was thinking along the same lines. Akira had been nothing but completely obvious with his feelings to the point that he was either convinced that Akechi had to know already and just wasn’t interested, or was simply oblivious because he wasn’t interested in romance in the first place. And so, either way, Akira wasn’t prepared to push for anything. There was too big of a chance that things would go badly.

“Hey…c'mon man…” Ryuji says, expression falling.

“And what if he says, _yes_?” Ann asks, turning to pin him with a hard look. “Did you ever consider that?”

Akira blinks.

...He hadn’t.

Ann must see the surprise and confliction written across his face because her expression softens, her tone turning gentle as she says, “Just think about it. Okay?”

Then she takes pity on him and changes the topic, she and Ryuji talking about something that Akira can’t manage to pay attention to. Because now that the thought has entered his mind, he can’t stop himself from imagining what it’d be like if he and Akechi were actually dating. Finds himself imagining how it’d be if he were here with him now.

Akechi with his legs across his lap, his adorable prickliness as he bickered with Ryuji and played nice with Ann. Akira still didn’t really want him within ten feet of Mishima, but it’d still be fine. Because they’d be together, always, no matter what.

The sheer amount of longing that accompanies the thought surprises even him, and as Akira falls asleep that night he can’t help but curse his own inability to be brave.

***

Late the next day, Akira is watching the sunset over the ocean, the quickly fading light marking the beginning of the last evening he’d be spending in Hawaii. The orange glow of the sky is beautiful, so unlike the sunset back in Tokyo where the buildings more often than not blocked out most of it from being seen.

“...How beautiful,” Makoto says from beside him and he nods in agreement.

Akira had decided to spend some time with her after she’d texted him earlier that day and asked if he’d like to take a walk. Going with her, at the very least, got him away from Mishima and talking about the Phansite all day, so he was quick to agree. Besides Ryuji and Mishima were going out to pick up women or whatever, and Akira wasn’t exactly interested in any of that. The time Ryuji had attempted it at the beach was...the exception. He still hadn’t forgotten the feel of Akechi’s hand in his and the way he so casually called him his boyfriend. That memory was filed away along with the dusting of freckles from the sun Akechi had been unable to hide, and the way he viciously defended the girls from those guys.

He was...amazing.

Casting a glance down the beach, Akira spots a couple walking hand in hand by the water and the same pang of longing he’d felt last night returns with a vengeance. Somewhere along the line Akechi had become someone immensely important to him- someone who he didn’t want to lose. Who he _couldn’t_ lose. And so, the very concept of misstepping and pushing him too far was terrifying.

Akira _wanted_ him, but he’d rather be friends than nothing at all.

“My sister would be upset if she saw me laid back like this,” Makoto says to him. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t particularly eager to go on this trip. But if it’s like this...I think I’d like to come again.”

She looks at him expectantly and Akira stares at her, only really having been half paying attention to what she’d been saying.

“If you like someone but you don’t want to accidentally ruin your friendship, what do you do?” Akira asks before he has a chance to think better of it. He didn’t really know what else to say, and he’d been thinking of asking for Makoto’s advice the entire time he’d been out with her anyway. So, _no time like the present_ , or so he tells himself.

“Oh...are you saying you like someone?” Makoto asks in a way that he’d almost take as being _shy_ if that wasn’t one of the most ridiculous things he’d ever thought. Maybe she was just uncomfortable with talking about romance? She wouldn’t be the first person...

“Yeah,” Akira responds honestly and Makoto nods slowly in response, fiddling with the edge of her bikini skirt as she seems to think over what she wants to say.

“Well...I think sometimes being upfront with your feelings can go a long way,” she says after a moment, looking up to meet his eyes before dropping her gaze just as quickly.

“But what if they don’t feel the same way?”

“You’re an _amazing_ person,” she tells him with a small smile. “I think uh... _whoever_ it is, is very likely feeling the same way you are right now.”

Akira frowns, not really sure how to tell her that the person in question might be the most complicated person he’s ever met and that him being _amazing_ , as nice of a sentiment as that was for her to say, probably wasn’t a guarantee that he’d win Goro Akechi’s heart.

Apparently, he spends too long sulking silently to himself because when Makoto next speaks it’s with a very obvious change in subject.

“Anyway…um, whatever happened with your friend? The one with the...drinking problem?”

Despite the seriousness of her chosen topic, the irony of it doesn’t fail to amuse Akira. What Makoto didn’t realize was that the subject of both of her topics was one in the same. Not that he’d ever tell her that.

“He’s...doing better. I think,” he tells her as honestly as he can without giving too much away. “I don’t think he’s gotten wasted since that night.”

She hums. “And you know this for sure? I mean this is someone you’ve been...spending a lot of time with?”

Her gaze meets his, sharp and piercing, and Akira suddenly feels as if she might be asking about this out of more than just friendly concern about Akira having a friend who was engaging in underage drinking. Makoto could be incredibly intelligent, and if she was somehow puzzling together that Akechi was part of the Phantom Thieves… Well, it wouldn’t be the best. While Akira didn’t think that Makoto was a threat who would sell them out, he also preferred to keep Akechi’s involvement in the Phantom Thieves as quiet as possible. After all, he was the one most at risk if he were ever to be found out.

“That’s just what he’s told me and I trust him,” Akira says and hopes that will be enough to satisfy her.

She looks like she’s not quite buying it, but thankfully she doesn’t push. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like I’m prying. I just want to be someone you can talk to…” She laughs quietly to herself and fiddles with the ends of her hair. “Sorry, that probably sounds strange of me to say.”

“Oh um, thanks.”

He knows his words come out a bit awkwardly, but the conversation definitely went in a direction he hadn’t been expecting and he’s not really sure how to respond. He’s not entirely sure if she’s trying to be a good friend, or if she’s really just this dedicated to her position as Student Council President. If it was the latter, he definitely had to admire her tenacity.

“Of course,” she says. He notices her face is a little red and briefly wonders if she had forgotten to apply sunscreen on her face earlier. “Oh, I have something for you,” she adds after a moment, and digs into the small bag she’d brought with her until she pulls out something small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. “I’d like you to have this.”

She hands over a small wooden tiki keychain and Akira looks at it in surprise, not having expected a gift.

“It’s not the best souvenir…” she says, while avoiding his eyes in favor of looking out at the ocean, “but it will remind you of the memories we made today.”

“It’s great, thank you,” he says and shoves it into the pocket of his swim shorts.

“Thank goodness,” she says, sounding genuinely relieved. She continues looking out at the fading sunset for several moments before she lets out a sigh. “Well, we should probably return before it gets dark.”

Akira immediately thinks of heading back to the hotel where he’d probably be stuck alone with Mishima again and real terror grips at him.

“Just a little longer,” he says quickly, perfectly content to stay right here for the rest of the trip and never return to his cursed hotel room.

“...I suppose I can’t complain about that,” Makoto says, seeming pleased. She moves over a little on the bench and he lets her, figuring that maybe she was starting to get cold.

He finds himself glad to have come out with her today, she was a good friend.

***

Early the next day, the souvenir shop is bustling with people.

They only had a short time left before they had to meet back with their class to catch the flight back to Tokyo, and although he did have fun, in all honesty Akira is ready to go back home. Akechi aside, he misses Morgana and would really like the privacy of having a room to himself again.

“Okay,” Ann says, addressing the group like a true leader of their short shopping expedition. “So, we need to find souvenirs for Goro, Morgana, and Futaba.”

“I think Akira can handle getting one for his boyfriend,” Ryuji adds with a grin, elbowing Akira in the side.

“I also find that would also be for the best,” Yusuke says with a nod of approval.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Akira protests weakly, more to himself since he knows it would only fall of deaf ears.

“Yeah yeah,” Ryuji says while starting to move deeper into the small shop with Yusuke at his side. “We’ll catch you later. Make sure you get him something nice.”

“Don’t worry,” Ann tells him as she goes to follow them. “The three of us have Morgana and Futaba covered, you just focus on Goro.”

And with that, they walk away and leave him standing there alone in the middle of the souvenir shop.

It’s only then that Akira fully realizes what he’s just been tasked with. Whatever he bought for Akechi could make or break their entire relationship. What if he got Akechi something he absolutely hated- and then he’d be under the assumption that Akira didn’t know him at all, and he’d hate him for the rest of Akira’s sad and lonely existence-

“Hellooooo... **Senpai**!”

Akira jumps, barely swallowing down his surprised yelp as spins around to spot Kasumi standing there with a bright smile.

When she spots his expression, she laughs. “I really scared you, didn’t I? ”

And Akira’s about to answer that with a solid _no_ , because he was leader of the Phantom Thieves and he did _not_ get scared by fifteen-year-old girls with adorably large red ribbons in their hair. Yet before he gets that chance, he’s interrupted by Ryuji who seems to have turned right back around with Yusuke and Ann in tow.

“Huh, who’s your friend Akira?” he asks.

“Ah… Sorry to be a bother!” Kasumi says. “I’m Yoshizawa, a first-year. It’s nice meeting you all!”

“...Oh! You’re that gymnast!” Ann says, clearly recognizing her.

“Yes, that’s right!” Kasumi responds with another bright smile. “Our club’s here at a training camp to get ready for the next big meet, and I just happened to find Akira-senpai.”

“Oh! Well, good luck on the next meet- we’re all rooting for you!” Ann tells her kindly. “We should probably get back to shopping now, but it was nice meeting you!”

“Thank you very much! It was nice meeting you as well,” Kasumi says and gives a polite bow.

After the three of them walk away to finish their search, Kasumi turns back to Akira with a wide smile. “Your friends are very nice! I’ll be sure to prove to everyone what I’m made of.” She pauses then, her cheerful demeanor fading into something a bit more neutral. “Considering the rank I got last time though, I also got this souvenir as a sort of insurance.”

Taking something out of her pocket, she displays it on the heart of her palm and Akira eyes it with a bit of confusion.

“A good-luck charm?”

Kasumi nods. “I bought it earlier today at this branch of a Japanese shrine here in Hawaii,” she explains. “I always used to buy some kind of charm before a big competition. My sister was even more stringent with her own superstitions.” She pauses, her expression falling into something much more somber in a way that doesn’t escape Akira’s notice. “The thing is...I forgot to pick one up before the last meet...I’ll be fine now, though! I just know it...” She pastes on a smile that Akira isn’t quite buying, and pockets the charm again. “I should probably get going, I almost forgot that I still need to pick up souvenirs for my family.”

Akira frowns, something not quite sitting right with him, something about the conversation leaving him feeling a little off. Still, he decides to file it away for later since it wasn’t really any of his business, and he had other matters at hand that were still stressing him the hell out.

Speaking of...

“We could look together if you want,” Akira says before Kasumi has a chance to walk away. Her eyes widen a bit at his offer and he adds, “Actually...I think I could really use your help finding a souvenir.”

While Akira didn’t usually ask for help from people, he was fully ready to admit he was desperate.

“Oh?” Kasumi says in clear surprise. “For who?”

Akira hesitates.

“It’s for a...friend,” he finally decides to tell her, fully avoiding mentioning it was for Akechi. The last thing he’d need is for Akechi to find out that he’d asked for Kasumi’s help in picking out a souvenir for him. He’d probably never let him forget it and Akira would be _mortified_.

“Well, in my experience the best souvenirs are ones that are sentimental,” Kasumi says, tilting her head in thought. “Let’s see...maybe...something that they can wear?” She smiles sunnily. “I love when I can wear something someone gave me as a gift. That way, when someone asks, I can tell them all about how special it is.”

“So...an accessory?” Akira asks, suddenly pressed with the mental image of Akechi with a ponytail being held up by a large red ribbon. The image is a lot more adorable than it probably should be, but although Akira’s a big fan of the idea, he’s not so sure Akechi would appreciate it.

“Yeah, exactly!” Kasumi says brightly, oblivious to the turn of his thoughts. “Or even a piece of jewelry! I know I love getting jewelry as a present.”

Akira nods slowly, considering it. Jewelry _could_ be considered a romantic gift, but it didn’t _have_ to be. It was ambiguous, while also being something that Akechi could wear in public that would be from _him_ , and Akira definitely likes the thought of that.

With that in mind, he moves over to the jewelry display he’d spotted against the far right wall of the shop, and Kasumi stands beside him as he looks over the collection. Most of it looks cheap and simple- braided rope bracelets and necklaces adorned with seashells. None of it seems like something Akechi would like, at least until he spots a row of bracelets sitting in individual boxes near the back. Picking up one of them, he finds a silver bangle with an elegant flower engraving along the outside. Simple, yet refined. It’s perfect.

It’s...also definitely a little on the pricier side, but luckily Akira has a fair amount saved up from their Metaverse exploits so it wouldn’t end up draining his entire bank account.

“Oh, this looks expensive!” Kasumi says, leaning over to get a closer look. When she leans back she raises a conspiratorial brow at him. “You’re sure it’s for a _friend_?”

“Right now, yeah,” Akira says softly, allowing himself to be a little more honest since she had no idea who he was talking about. “But they’re...important to me.” He gives her a weak smile. “Do you think it’s too much?”

She gives him a small smile in return. “No,” she says, “I think it’s perfect.”

He nods and decides on buying it as soon as he finished helping her find whatever it was she needed. “Thanks for your help, Kasumi.”

“Of course! Anytime, Senpai!” She tells him, seeming honestly happy to have helped. “I’m sure your friend is going to love it.”

He _really_ hoped she was right.

***

_**[1332] Me:** Just landed back in Japan_

Akira stares down at the last message sent in his message log with Akechi for the umpteenth time as he walks through the back streets towards Leblanc.

He’d sent that message to him practically the moment the plane touched ground, almost two hours ago now, and Akechi still hadn’t responded. It was unusual for him, and there’s a fair amount of worry collecting in his gut that he can’t quite ignore.

Still, when he finally opens the door and walks back into Leblanc, he instantly feels a little better when he sees his absolute favorite feline companion sitting on the stool in the middle of the cafe. Akira makes a beeline for him, hoping that no one notices the fact that there may or may not be tears gathering in his eyes.

“You get tanned a bit?” Sojiro asks just as Akira finally reaches Morgana, dropping his suitcase to lift his small form in his arms.

“Hey, don’t manhandle me!”

“Don’t ever leave me again,” Akira tells him, pointedly ignoring the claws digging into his arms.

“You’re the one who left!” Morgana yowls, but finally gives up fighting and submits to Akira’s coddling him with an annoyed huff.

“Yeah hi to you too,” Futaba greets, but watches the two of them with a smile anyway. “How was Hawaii?”

“Aloha,” Akira says flatly like the true comedian he was at heart.

“He’s been Hawaiianized…” Futaba says in response, playing along.

“Eh, I can understand why,” Sojiro adds.

“ _Well_ ,” Morgana says with a dignified air, finally breaking out of Akira’s arms to climb up to his shoulders, where he then situates himself with his paws on Akira’s head as if using it as a podium. “While you guys were off having fun, things here have gotten a bit more complicated.”

He raises a paw towards the TV and Akira looks to the screen to pay attention to what's being said.

At first it doesn’t really seem important. Just more talk about how popular the Phantom Thieves were becoming and about the abundance of merch that has been lining the shelves of practically every store lately. With the pure exhaustion tugging at his consciousness that’s getting harder to ignore, he’s about to attempt going back to his room to sleep for the next three years, when his attention gets yanked back to the TV at the sound of one particular name.

 _“What do you think, Akechi-kun?”_ the host says and Akira’s breath catches in his throat.

 _“Well,”_ Akechi says with his overly pleasant TV smile. _“I can sense some chivalry behind their actions. They are clever to take the silent resentments of the public into account and relieve them. I believe that may be the secret to their popularity.”_

Akira hadn’t known he’d had an interview planned. And while Akechi never really told him about all of his plans and TV appearances, Akira had ended up finding out about mostly all of them anyway while he’d been making him breakfast every morning throughout the summer. Now...there really was no easy way for him to find out besides directly asking him, but whether this was recorded before or during the trip, it was at least abundantly clear that Akechi had been busy.

 _“Well this is surprising,”_ the host continues. _“Your stance seems to have softened.”_

At that comment, Akira can’t help but smile. Akechi had been running with the Phantom Thieves for months and the media still had no idea. Akechi, of course, was free to talk about the Phantom Thieves however he wanted, he had his job to worry about after all, so none of what he’s saying is really anything new or surprising. So, instead Akira finds himself gazing longingly at the person he knew so well, and yet who seemed so much like a stranger with his plastic smile and detective prince persona.

“You’re drooling…” Futaba says, and Akira shoots her a look.

He was _not_ drooling.

 _“This doesn’t change the fact that they are dangerous,”_ Akechi continues, _“However… No, I shouldn’t say any more.”_

_“Come on, you can say it.”_

_“Oh no, I won’t be falling for that,”_ he says, and Akira can recognize the hint of real annoyance lying beneath the facade. _“I’ve learned my lesson after the previous backfire…”_

“These thieves are more popular than the police or politicians,” Akira hears Sojiro say even as his attention remains firmly focused on the TV. “What’s the world coming to?”

Almost immediately after Sojiro says the words, he excuses himself to the bathroom. And, once it’s clear that Akechi’s segment is finished, Akira returns to his room after agreeing with Futaba that they should all try to have a meeting tomorrow.

He gets dressed and ready for bed, pulling out his phone one last time only to find that Akechi...still hasn’t replied.

It was probably fine.

Akechi seemed perfectly normal in his interview and he’d texted back normally throughout all of the Hawaii trip. And it’s not like Akira had any solid reason to think anything was wrong. Like Akechi had said, Akira always worried far too much. Besides, Akira was exhausted and had to get up early for class tomorrow. His world didn’t revolve around Goro Akechi. It didn’t. Really.

Pretending that he’s not actively trying to fool himself, Akira climbs into bed, Mona’s comforting weight instantly settling on his chest.

...Akechi would probably get back to him in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get a lot more...serious from here on out :) 
> 
> All comments/kudos are greatly appreciated, thank you!


	16. GORO VIII: In Which Akechi Makes A Choice

_[1332] Kurusu: Just landed back in Japan_

The message was teasing Goro in his notifications, a strange bubble of impatience and anxiety warring somewhere inside of him. The past few days Kurusu’s absence had been both a relief and torture, his presence diluted to sporadic texts and photos sent Goro’s way. He thought he would’ve gotten annoyed at the deluge, of the Phantom Thieves having fun without him in Hawaii and rubbing it in his face, but instead…

He understood the meaning behind the photos, the texts: _we wish you were here!_ There was a warmth to that sentiment, to knowing _he_ was missed as well, him in all of his rough edges and imperfect attitude. They sent him photos linked to inside jokes _(“hey, shame you’re not here to break these watermelons for us!”_ or _“apparently this spot was where they filmed Featherman R: 3?”),_ and Goro felt… included. Happy? Happy. 

Yes, he was happy.. 

But right now, not even that bubble of selfish happiness could cushion the looming Sword of Damocles dangling inches from his neck. Today was the 12th September - the day of Shido’s ultimatum, and true to form his father had demanded he resolved it _in person._ There would be no safety buffer of distance to help Goro lie to his face this time.

He stowed his phone, drumming his fingers nervously on his thigh as he waited. This late in the evening, Shido’s offices were quiet and near empty. The small waiting room he was in was occupied only by a single receptionist - blond, slim and leggy, the type Shido went through like tissue paper. Goro didn’t recognise her. 

The receptionist was eyeing him curiously, her blue eyes peeking over her magazine. She clearly recognised him, but was too professional to ask questions about his presence. You learned quickly not to _ask questions_ when working for Shido. 

The awkward, stilted silence was broken by the receptionist’s desk phone ringing and she picked it up. With a soft ‘yes, sir’, she hung up and turned to Goro; “Shido-san is free to see you now, Akechi-san.”

Goro shot her a winsome smile, making sure it dimpled; “Thank you.” 

Shido’s office was, surprisingly, quite modest for a man of such overbearing pride. It looked professional, the perfect base of operations for the grassroots party he was heading - he was nothing like those bloated, corrupted stooges in the Diet, Shido’s modest office proclaimed, he is focused solely on the betterment of Japan! Not on personal gain! Look how humble he is, how professional, how _good._

What a farce. 

“Akechi,” Shido was seated at his desk, an open bottle of bourbon near his elbow. The faint flush to his cheeks said he’d been drinking. Goro was instantly on guard; “You’re finally here.”

“You requested this to be in person, sir?”

“Yes, yes…” Shido poured a glass - and another one, pushing it towards Goro. The amber liquid sloshed hard enough that it almost dribbled over the rim, “But first, have a drink for a _good_ job. You did well with Kobayakawa today.”

Unease unspooled in Goro’s gut, but he couldn’t outright refuse the drink. This was unusual, Shido never offered him alcohol for a _good job,_ and he didn’t like the way Shido had said that, the way he was looking at him - intently, calculating, like he was logging away every single microexpression Goro involuntarily made. He was squarely in Shido’s crosshairs, and not in a good way.

Goro picked up the drink. 

Shido lifted his glass, “To us, and our continued successes.”

The words stuck in Goro’s throat, but he lifted his glass as well. He didn’t dare hesitate - the mood in the office felt _dangerous,_ despite Shido’s jovialness, so he quickly downed his glass. The burn kicked the back of his throat, a bloom of heat behind his breastbone, tasting acrid. He muffled a cough and set the glass down on Shido’s desk with a soft _‘clnk’_. 

“Done like a real man, well done,” Shido drawled, patting the edge of his desk in mockery of applause, “Been practicing, have you?”

“I’m not much of a drinker, sir,” Goro said neutrally.

“You’re young,” Shido dismissed, and downed his own glass, “Speaking of Kobayakawa… you managed to make his shutdown fatal, but its timing was so… _risky._ His death in police custody will mean its cause and time will be muddled before it hits the media, but he managed to say _something_ to the wrong people before the ‘stroke’ got him, so, _good job_ in that.”

Shido’s tone had darkened. Goro shifted uneasily. 

“...as I stated before,” Goro ventured hesitantly, when the silence became expectant, “I’m unable to influence when the shutdown occurs after-”

“That was two years ago,” Shido said, agitatedly drumming his fingers on his desk, “Two years should be long enough for you to iron out such _inefficiencies_ out of your work. Did you even try to improve? You’ve had plenty of resources to _practice on.”_

Goro stayed quiet. 

“Useless,” Shido muttered, planting his hand solidly on his desk and leveraging himself out of his seat, “I sunk so much money into you, and it didn’t even give me a weapon with an accurate _timer.”_

“...”

“Nevermind,” Shido waved the topic aside like it was worthless, fixing Goro with a penetrating stare, “Kobayakawa’s botched job isn’t important. What’s important is that _other thing.”_

Despite the flush to his cheeks and the gleam in his eyes, Shido’s movements were sure and steady as he prowled around his desk, removing the solid barrier between them. Goro felt his muscles tense up in strained effort to resist a physical retreat, his pulse picking up. 

“Do you know what I’m talking about, Akechi?” Shido asked quietly, now right in front of him.

Verbal minefield. Goro’s gaze flicked to the side subconsciously, seeking an escape route. 

“The results of my investigation into the Phantom Thieves,” Goro replied, feeling his palms start to sweat inside his gloves. He had lied many, many times to Shido’s face, but this was the first time where it felt so - _high stakes._ Dangerous. His throat was dry, and he fought the urge to swallow, his fingers twitching with the urge to curl them into fists. Neutral. Calm. He can do this.

“That’s right,” Shido murmured, his gaze flaying, “You’ve had… oh, how many months now?”

“Four,” Goro answered evenly. 

“Four months to find out the identity of those vigilante brats,” Shido said conversationally, idly twisting the ring on his middle finger, “Four months with the power of my connections and your supposed _investigational talents_ to hunt down those who stand in the way of our success. Four months to find me the answer to this simple question…”

And Shido leaned over him slightly, bringing every intimidating inch of him to bear; “Who are the Phantom Thieves?”

Goro inhaled and braced himself; “I need more time-”

“No,” Shido made a sharp, cutting motion with his hand, agitated, a muscle in his jaw ticking, “You’ll just squander it, like you have these past four months. Do you think I’m an idiot, Akechi? Really? One chance, gone. Your second: who are the Phantom Thieves?”

Fuck. “I have- narrowed it down to a handful of suspects. If given more time, a month, I can-”

“Akechi,” Shido interrupted, his voice so dangerously _soft,_ every syllable pinging red flags in Goro’s mind, _“Who are the Phantom Thieves?”_

Goro kept his expression still. The situation felt precarious, teetering over some unseen edge. Shido didn’t look angry. He didn’t look much of anything; a terrifying, unpredictable blankness in his gaze as he stared Goro down. He loomed over him - broad-shouldered and tall; Goro inherited his height from his mother, had never come close to the intimidating presence Shido wielded so effortlessly, and he felt that so keenly now, small and timid in Shido’s large, powerful shadow. 

The part of him that craved recognition, that craved _pride_ from this piece of shit, wanted so badly to crumble. Wanted _so badly to g_ ive up the Phantom Thieves, secure his position at Shido’s back, the dagger raised high enough to drive it through his vertebrae. Give in. Give them up. Don’t disappoint Shido. Don’t- you’ve come so far, don’t- _don’t-!_

“I don’t know,” Goro heard himself say.

There was a long, ugly silence. 

“You don’t know,” Shido finally said, his voice soft with _danger,_ “After months of investigations and failures… you don’t know.”

Goro’s foot had landed squarely on the metaphorical mine. He braced himself for the inevitable detonation, saying again; “I don’t know.”

Shido sighed, his broad shoulders rising and falling with the long, drawn out noise. He lifted his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation and-

It happened lightning fast. Too unexpected and too abrupt for Goro to even flinch - a violent movement, sharp, fast- Shido’s hand snapping out and-

**_‘SMACK!’_ **

“Don’t _fuck with me,_ Akechi!” Shido bellowed as Goro reeled back in stunned pain, “How _useless_ are you if you can’t figure out who the _fuck_ they are after _months_ of investigation and resources!? Do you think I’m _stupid!?_ Blind!? _Do you, Akechi!?_ ”

“I-I don’t…” Goro tried, too bewildered to marshal a defence. He somehow stayed in place, despite the flood of adrenaline making every nerve in his body tremble with terrified anticipation. The right side of his face throbbed with pain - a tickle of something sliding down his cheek and along his jawline - blood, Shido’s ring had probably cut him. His face. He hit him in the _face?_

Shido hit him.

He hit him?

“I… I don’t know,” Goro repeated in a blank daze. He felt oddly calm even as his hands shook, even as his heart thumped a terrified beat somewhere in his throat. He blinked a few times to clear the tears of pain from his vision, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“ _I’m sorry, sir,”_ Shido imitated him mockingly, “I don’t want your pathetic apologies, Akechi, I want _results._ Two years playing detective and you didn’t even bother picking up basic investigation skills? A fucking idiot could figure this out!”

His father’s expression turned cruel and ugly as he leaned down, a glimmer of vicious satisfaction in his gaze when Goro instinctively flinched; “Does the leader of that little group have a pretty face, Akechi, is that it? Did he sweet-talk you and tell you how much you _matter?_ Promise you things? Well?”

Goro said nothing. He was fairly certain he stopped breathing entirely, sweat sticking to the back of his shirt. He didn’t dare blink or look away. 

Shido hissed, quietly; “Do I have to worry about _you_ following in Kobayawaka’s traitorous footsteps too?”

Sickly, ice-cold fear flooded Goro in a nauseous rush, cracking him from his mute shock, _“No._ No, I’m- I’m loyal to you, sir.”

“Are you?” Shido took a step closer, aggressively using his height to loom over him and dominate every inch of his personal space, “Because from where I’m standing, you’re not loyal _at all.”_

Goro stayed absolutely still as Shido leaned right into his face to whisper, softly, “And what do I do to people who prove themselves disloyal to me, Akechi? What did I order you to do yesterday?”

Goro’s heart was so loud he was certain Shido could hear it. He kept his expression still. His cut cheek started to itch past the sting, a grounding sensation as he held Shido’s furious gaze. He’d never felt so small in his life.

“I’m loyal,” Goro repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Shido stared him down for one long, terrifying moment. 

“Hm,” he eased back, his fury ebbing into something more calculating, “Alright, Akechi. You’re ‘loyal’. Then you’ll be willing to prove it, yes?”

Goro said nothing, not even daring to breathe too loudly. He didn’t even blink, tracking Shido’s movements as the man moved back to his office’s desk. He looked utterly relaxed now, his mood pivoting on a dime. 

“Okumura,” Shido said, grabbing his chair and easing into it, slowly, casually, like he hadn’t just _backhanded Goro across the face,_ “I want him to undergo a mental shutdown before mid-October, preferably a _fatal_ one. Do this, and I will… _forgive_ your recent failures. Understand?”

Goro’s jaw worked, and it took two tries for him to say; “Yes, sir.” 

“Good boy,” Shido’s tone was derisive, “Now get the _fuck_ out of my office.”

Goro fled.

* * *

That odd, hazy calm followed him all the way back to his apartment. This late at night, his appearance hadn’t been commented on - or noticed. His cheek and neck felt itchy, and when he scratched at his school shirt collar, flecks of rusty brown stuck beneath his nails. Soiled. Blood was difficult to get out of white shirts. He’ll have to throw this away. 

He mechanically went through the motions of coming home. He took his shoes off, he turned the kettle on - no Kurusu meant he was back to his nightly diet of instant noodles - and stared at it blankly as the black plastic kettle began to rumble and vibrate. He didn’t think about what had happened. He made his instant noodles, sat down on his sofa, and watched the news without really watching it as he held the noodle cup, its warmth seeping through its casing and into his ice-cold fingers.

Eventually, the numbness wore off enough for him to assess the damage. He put his cold, untouched noodles on the coffee table and stood up. The entire right side of his face felt stiff and swollen, a throbbing ache that flared every time he moved his jaw, and he gingerly touched it with his fingertips as he moved towards his bathroom. It felt swollen, but hopefully it- felt worse than it looked. If it was bruised, then he could cover it with concealer. It would be a bit of a pain to maintain, but it was cooler now, so he wouldn’t have to worry about sweating a layer of foundation and concealer off-

He turned his bathroom light on and looked at the mirror. 

_“No,”_ he groaned, unable to hold back the sound of dismay. His face was… it was… 

It was an _ugly_ **_mess._ **

Shido’s ring had cut a gaping gash across his cheekbone, glistening dark red with the edges already scabbing. His cheek was a mess of dried blood, trailing under the jaw and down his neck. He looked like a victim of- it was a lot of blood. He had biked home and no one had… noticed. That. No one had noticed this. 

Beyond the gash, his cheek _was_ swollen and already beginning to bruise. Detachedly, Goro thought he was lucky Shido hadn’t knocked a tooth out. 

He couldn’t hide this. 

He tried anyway. 

With shaking fingers, he yanked his mirror cabinet open, fumbling with his med kit and spilling half of its contents into the sink. He slammed the mirror closed, rummaging through the plastic bags of bandages and plasters and steri-strips - no, he should probably disinfect this first. Who knew where the hell Shido’s ring had been. He needed to- 

Did this need stitches?

Goro stared at his reflection at this thought, his gaze fixed on the cut. It looked too bloody, too gaping - but he couldn’t see the bone or anything like it, it just looked - bad. It looked bad, that’s all. It was fine. Fine. There was no way he could go to A&E anyway even if it _did_ need stitches. What would he say? _‘Teehee, I walked into a door, silly me!’_ No, no way, they would _know,_ and everyone would, the media would be upon him like a pack of starving wolves and _-_

Breathe. Calm. Breathe. Fine. This was fine. 

“This _isn’t_ fine,” he snarled at himself, then had to stifle a hysterical laugh because he was shouting at nothing like a _crazy person._

Why did Shido hit him in the _face?_ He should’ve punched him in the ribs, the stomach, anything- anywhere _else-_ drunk. Shido had been drunk, he probably did it on impulse. He was pissed and lashed out, like he always did whenever he was drunk, except instead of throwing things _at_ Goro, where he had gotten very good at anticipating and ducking, instead he outright...

Goro gripped the sink as he slowly fell to his knees in a controlled fall. His vision was blurry, tears clinging to his eyelashes, and he didn’t know _why._ What was crying going to solve? Fucking nothing. It was stupid and pathetic. Stop being a crybaby. Stop it. _Stop it._

Goro's forehead gently thumped against the undersink cabinet.

 _i need help,_ a traitorous voice whispered, and he almost laughed at the thought. Who would help _him?_ The Phantom Thieves? They couldn’t - _wouldn’t_ if they knew the truth. They’d look at him with the same disgust Shido had, like he was something cursed and defective that needed to crawl into a hole and die.

 _you need only yourself,_ something else said, dark and vicious and warbling around the edges, _just you. it’s only you in this world._

He sucked in a breath, exhaling it in a shuddering, choppy gasp as he pulled himself back up again. Everything - the nausea in his belly, the fear, the bewilderment and panic and- and _everything,_ he bundled it up tight and shoved it down into the dark hole where Loki lived. Down and down, until he was breathing calmly and slowly and his expression was as blank as stone. 

“This is fine,” he told himself, calm and empty, “This is salvageable. All I need to do is kill Okumura. It’s fine.”

It’s fine. 

He picked up the medkit again, and this time his hands were steady. 

* * *

In the morning it looked worse. 

The skin around his cut cheek was black and blue, betraying how much force Shido had used. Goro noted this absently, prodding the scabbed mess the cut had become. Maybe it didn’t need stitches after all, but there was still a chance this would scar. What would he tell people?

 _i walked into a door,_ he thought blandly, _i fell down the stairs. i hit myself in the face trying to open a jar. a biking accident. a botched mugging._

All of those excuses fell flat even within the safety of his mind.

Goro stared at the injury. The bruising had spread overnight too - he had a black eye on the right side of his face. He curiously traced it with his fingertips, feeling the dull throb of pain when he applied pressure to the ugly smear of blackened blue around his eye. He looked like he’d been punched. 

_not punched,_ he corrected himself, _shido backhanded me. it’s different. it’s-_

Was it better? Less violent? More considerate? Goro couldn’t even finish the thought. He felt queasy in a way that didn’t have a name, and he turned away from his reflection, not even bothering to take the painkillers he’d planned to have.

He called in sick for school and googled _‘how do you get rid of bruises within days’._ The answer wasn’t promising. 

(he ignored the numerous messages from the Phantom Thieves:

 **sakamoto:** meeting on thursday guys!

 **kurusu:** discussing new targets

 **futaba:** finally.

 **futaba:** i was beginning to wonder if you guys did any Phantom Thieving 

**sakamoto:** hey we’ve been busy with summer!

 **sakamoto:** phantom thieves have gotta have holidays too

 **kurusu:** everyone cool with thurs for pt meeting?

_(kurusu, sakamoto, ann, kitagawa and futaba have reacted to this message)_

**sakamoto:** has anyone heard from akechi yet?

and the few from akira:

 **kurusu:** hey are you okay?

 **kurusu:** sorry if you’re busy, just concerned how quiet you’ve been

 **kurusu:** i can visit after school?

he was too much of a coward to face them right now)

Goro sat on his sofa with an ice pack wrapped in a teatowel pressed against his face. It hurt, but he read that the cold would reduce the swelling, and then he could use a heat pack to encourage blood flow and healing - he’ll take anti-inflammatories too, and maybe, _maybe,_ after pretending to be sick for a week, he’d be able to face the public with a generous layer of makeup hiding everything. 

Thank god he had that interview yesterday and not, say, today. It would be commented on if he avoided a public showing considering his current ‘popularity’. 

His phone buzzed on the coffee table where he left it, and Goro dragged his unseeing gaze from the TV. The screen said ‘KURUSU’.

He ignored it. 

This was how his day went: he avoided messages and phone calls. He switched the ice pack for a heat pack when the ice had melted and began dripping through the teatowel. He did his homework in some zen-like daze. He ate the cold noodles he made the night before, wincing through the sharp jolts of pain that lanced through his jaw from the attempt. He showered and made his cut start bleeding all over again, the scabbing softening and sloughing off. He went to bed after carefully applying a bandage to the cut so he didn’t bleed all over his pillow. 

Again, on the morning of the 14th September, his face looked worse. 

It was the colour of the bruising, he observed idly. The bruising was an ugly mix of colours now, smears of blue and purple and reds and dark pinks, radiating from the central point of that ugly as fuck cut across his cheek. His black eye was at its starkest, which meant it could only get better from here. 

_(right?)_

But the swelling had gone down. That was good. His face didn’t look lopsided and puffy on one side anymore, an asymmetry that had him twitching and angry. His face was all he had, when it came down to it. Even with Shido throwing his money and influence around, Goro wouldn’t have become Detective Prince if he had been _ugly._ He was pretty, he knew that. He looked like his mother, with gentle features and dark eyelashes, symmetrical features and a warm smile that dimpled. He was beautiful and approachable and it was the only thing most people really cared about. 

It pissed him off that it had been _marred_. 

“If this scars,” he vowed to his mirror, “I’m going to _kill him.”_

An empty threat, but it made him feel better. The embers of that resentful anger was flaring back to life where the Phantom Thieves had slowly doused it, and he clung to the acidic, violent feeling in a metaphorical white-knuckled grip. It carried him through the day; aggressively ignoring his phone, ice pack and heat pack routine on his face, obsessively checking his face, like the bruising would vanish between one hour and the next. Each time his impossible expectations were dashed and that anger bloomed and bloomed, growing claws and fangs and an increasing urge to punch his fucking mirror. 

Loki was vibrating beneath his skin like a living thing, and Goro wanted to- to- to go to the Metaverse and tear something limb from limb. The anger was outpacing his rationality - he felt powerless and trapped and the beast in him wanted to throw itself against the bars of his cage until he pulversied himself - or the cage broke, whichever came first. Loki gnashed its fangs and clawed at the inside of his ribcage and wailed and howled to _go and-_

His doorbell rang. 

It was hilariously jarring. Goro jolted from where he’d been yanking his boots on - when was he getting dressed? But he was - in his hoodie and jeans, hands shaking where they were gripping the edge of his boot tugged halfway on, his head buzzing and feeling like it was full of cotton. He didn’t remember doing this. 

The doorbell rang again. 

He shook his boot off, rising off his sofa and walking in a daze to his front door. He didn’t know what time it was, and it was this odd, disorientated state that he’ll blame later for answering the door without thinking. 

He realised just as he started to open it though - his _face -_ and quickly held it open a crack, peering through with his good side to see- 

“Oh no,” he blurted. 

“Uh, hi?” Kurusu said, sounding a bit confused at the response, “Ake-”

He slammed the door shut. 

Kurusu yelped, and Morgana loudly complained too, but that didn’t matter. Goro kept his hands flat against the door, the daze chased away from a flood of ice-cold adrenaline. Fuck. _Fuck,_ how did he not anticipate this? Of _course_ Kurusu would get concerned at him being ghosted and- shit. Fuck. Fucking _shit!_

Timidly, Kurusu knocked on the door, his voice muffled but not silenced by the door; “Akechi? Are you okay?” 

Goro’s brain made several lightning fast connections in the span of a blink. He couldn’t ignore him - no, no no no, Kurusu knew he was in, and after already catching him in a state of drunkenness in the past, would probably muster the audacity to break in if he felt it necessary. Or worse, summon the horde and he’d end up with all of the Phantom Thieves in here, up in his business and- he shouldn’t have ignored them. He should have, told them he was sick and- 

No. Kurusu would’ve _definitely_ come to ‘look after him’. Fucking _motherhen!_

“Akechi?”

Kurusu’s voice was louder now, more sharp, worried, but in that grim way that meant he was preparing to break the door down or something equally drastic - no matter how much of a scene it would make.

Goro imagined one of his neighbours calling the police, how they would rubberneck, and only one would need to see his face and-!

He _panicked._

Goro threw his door open, and before Kurusu could even say or _do_ anything, grabbed the front of his school jacket and hauled him inside his apartment. He slammed the door shut behind him, roughly releasing Kurusu who almost stumbled into a wall from the violent manhandling, and faced him head on. 

“Akechi!” Morgana recovered first, staring at him wide-eyed over Kurusu’s shoulder, “Your _face-”_

“Not a word,” Goro snarled, too keyed up to bother with niceties. There was an ungodly _pressure_ creaking behind his breastbone, like his emotions were pulled so taut they were going to rubberband against his ribs with enough force to shatter them, “Don’t say _anything.”_

Kurusu and Morgana said nothing. The cat looked grim, and Kurusu looked - nothing at all. His gaze was fixed on the side of Goro’s face, cataloguing and logging away every ugly imperfection with a terrifying, unpredictable sort of blankness that reminded Goro of Shido, just before he had- 

Goro looked away, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head so his hair hid the mess of his face, “Stop looking.” 

“Akechi,” Kurusu said, his tone pure _Joker,_ “Who did that.” 

Goro pushed past him, stubbornly not looking at him. Kurusu was immediately on his heels, following him into the kitchen. Morgana leapt off Kurusu’s shoulder and onto the kitchen counter, sweeping a judgemental gaze over the discarded ice packs and heat packs he left scattered over them, the tea towel dotted with blood from where he kept reopening his cut. 

_“Akechi,”_ Kurusu said, more forcefully. 

“No one,” Goro gritted out past clenched teeth, violently wrenching over his cupboard. He needed to keep his hands busy, before he did - something else. He yanked a glass out and clattered around, pretending he was looking for something to fill it with, “I walked into a door.”

“You walked into a door,” Kurusu repeated flatly, “Just like you fell against the kitchen counter?”

“I’m very clumsy.” 

_“Clumsy.”_

The tension could be cut with a knife. Goro held his empty glass in a white-knuckled grip, pain lancing through his jaw from how hard he was grinding his teeth. He felt flayed open, vulnerable, and- and _terrified,_ but he didn’t know why- why he did. Where this fear was stemming from? Not _of_ Kurusu, fuck no, he wasn’t terrified of _him,_ he was- it was- 

He was terrified of him _finding out._

Goro fucked himself over for them- for the Phantom Thieves. The further away they stayed from Shido, and vice versa, the better. Shido would eat them alive, and the Phantom Thieves would find out _everything_ if they stuck their nose into his Palace. If they ever found out - Goro would lose everything. Everything: his revenge, Shido’s trust, the Phantom Thieves, he would be… nothing. A failure and… 

It was an odd kind of fear. It was alive, almost like Loki- it _was_ Loki, or Loki fed off it, gave it thorns that stabbed like fishhooks under the skin, impossible to ignore. They’ll find out and hate you, Loki said, they’ll find out and abandon you, they’ll find out and betray you, they’ll find out and you’ll lose everything, they’ll find out, they’ll find out, _they’ll find out_ \- 

His head was pounding, a pain separate from the bruised jaw. Dizzy, nauseous - head full of cotton. He briefly felt detached from his body, and Loki felt- _closer,_ almost breathing down his neck, like it was _right there_ -

“Akechi,” Kurusu’s voice sounded very far away, but it cut through that odd moment and Loki’s ghostly presence vanished, “I just want to help.”

Goro didn’t say anything.

“I-I won’t ask who did it, just, Akechi...” Kurusu said, and he sounded more- _there,_ Goro’s focus latching onto the sound of his voice. He turned to him, even though every instinct fought against it, because some primal, hindbrain side of him knew that to let the dizzy blankness overtake him would be - bad. He had to focus. 

Kurusu looked earnest - genuine - his grey eyes filled with worry and concern. Morgana was a silent observer, crouched on his kitchen counter and staring at him with a laser focus, like he could detect whatever lies Goro spouted through his gaze alone. Maybe he could. Morgana wasn’t a normal cat, and definitely not a human, whatever he was. 

“Just drop it, Kurusu,” Goro said dully. 

“No,” Kurusu squared up to him, his steel spine choosing very poorly to make an appearance. Goro felt his anger bristle in response to the challenge. 

_“Drop it.”_

“Every time I do, it just gets worse!” Kurusu snapped right back, “What the _hell_ is going on with you-”

“It’s none of your business!”

“It is!” Kurusu bellowed, taking a step forward. Goro felt his pulse spike - he was against the sink and cornered, and Kurusu was no longer slouching. He was just that little bit taller than him, “You’re part of our team, my _friend,_ of course it’s my business if someone’s hurting you-”

“No one’s hurting me,” Goro started, but Kurusu spoke over him. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Kurusu snapped- 

_(“Do you think I’m stupid?! Blind!? Do you, Akechi!?”)_

Goro’s heart felt like it was going a thousand miles a minute, everything getting a very odd, distant feeling to it. He tightened his grip around the glass in his hand, breathing through that spike of nauseous anticipation. Kurusu wouldn’t hit him. 

...but he thought Shido wouldn’t either. 

“I just-” Kurusu struggled for words for a moment, roughly tugging his hand through his hair, “I’m scared you’re going to get really hurt one day.”

“I’ve survived without you for this long, so save your pity,” Goro said, and he tried to side-step, to get out of the corner, but Kurusu matched him, unwilling to let him escape. 

“Stop being so prideful!” Kurusu said in open frustration, “I’m not pitying you-!”

“I’m not talking about this,” Goro growled.

“Yes, we are,” Kurusu said stubbornly, “Akechi, this has gone on long enough.”

First Shido, now Kurusu, both laying ultimatums and conditions at his feet, tearing him apart between the pair of them. Goro felt trapped - physically, metaphorically - and the resentment of it all surged up inside of him as bitter bile, his breathing feeling like it was squeezing through his throat. Can’t he have a break? Can’t something _go right_ for once? He- he fucking lied to Shido’s face for Kurusu, so couldn’t he just keep looking the other way when it came to Goro’s whole fucking _thing-!?_

“Akechi,” Kurusu murmured, softly, like he was speaking to a wild animal, “I want to help you.”

Something snapped. 

_“_ I don’t want your _help!”_ Goro shouted, unable to hold back the venom. The fury was blinding - aimed at Kurusu, because this _was_ his fault, at _himself,_ at Shido, mostly Shido, but Shido was untouchable, and Goro was already unkind to himself, so Kurusu was the only outlet he had now, for this humiliated, scared anger that writhed in him like a living, breathing snake.

“Akechi-”

“No,” Goro didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want Kurusu’s _concern,_ didn’t want his probing questions coming from a place of worry, he wanted- he didn’t know what he wanted right now. He wished he didn’t care about the Phantom Thieves, he wished he had been callous (cowardly) enough to give them up, he wished he never _met_ Kurusu, wished he could still- could still be empty and cold, and, he wished, he _wished-_

“No,” he said again, when Kurusu opened his mouth, “No, I don’t _need-_ I’m fine. This is _fine._ I can deal with this-”

“Your face is cut open!” Kurusu exclaimed in flat disbelief. 

“I _fucking KNOW THAT!”_ Goro screamed, a red-hazed madness sinking its fangs into him. Everything flashed red, a tunnel-vision, like some demonic spectre had swooped down and possessed him-

_‘SMASH!’_

-the noise of breaking glass jarred him right out of it. Goro froze, breathing hard, taking a slow, shocked second to recognise the noise- to realise it had been _him._ At his feet, between the two of them, his glass was shattered into pieces, scattering its shards across the tiled floor and sending Kurusu back several, alarmed steps, Morgana hissing from the kitchen counter. He had thrown his glass at Kurusu’s feet.

Goro stared at the mess blankly. 

Oh. 

He didn’t know who looked more stunned. Kurusu was gazing at him wide-eyed, bewildered and a little wary. Was that how Goro had looked after Shido had struck him? That mix of disbelief and uncertainty? Like father, like son, both with shitty, explosive anger problems and- fuck. _Fuck._ What if he had thrown the glass a little higher? At Kurusu’s stomach, his _face-_

He felt sick at the idea.

“Shit,” Goro rasped, breaking the tense silence between them. The anger was gone, replaced with a shamed revulsion. He crouched down, picking up the glass shards with shaking fingers, “Shit- sorry. I shouldn’t have- I lost my temper.”

“It’s okay,” Kurusu said quietly, very softly, like he was speaking to a very skittish animal. He came closer and crouched down too. Goro studiously avoided looking at him, “It’s okay, no one was hurt. It’s fine.” 

_stop being kind to me,_ he silently begged, _stop it._

Goro shook his head, just picked up the glass pieces and closed his fingers tight over them convulsively. He felt like he was suffocating. Trapped. 

“Stop doing that,” Kurusu said, and his hands closed over Goro’s, prying his fingers loose from their death grip, “Please, stop- stop doing that.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Goro said thickly.

Kurusu looked up at him sharply, but Goro still avoided looking at him. He was a state - he was _fucked._ He wasn’t going to cry, but he knew the second he looked at Kurusu he was going to burst into tears or scream at him again, and he didn’t know what was worse. He felt like he was falling apart at the seams and didn’t know how to stop it. 

He’d lost control of this situation entirely. Shido, Kurusu, the Phantom Thieves… Goro had no control over any of it - _and it fucking_ **_terrified_ ** _him._

A taut silence smothered them. Kurusu gently took the glass out of his hands. Goro let him. 

“You’re bleeding,” Kurusu said softly, pointing out the obvious. 

“Why aren’t you mad?” Goro whispered, the question leaving him before he could stop himself. 

Kurusu gave him a very long, unreadable look. 

“Why would I be mad?” Kurusu asked very carefully, “You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

Goro had to laugh at that - an ugly, hysterical kind of noise, because he had done _so many things wrong._ He’s a murderer, a liar, a snake, a useless fucking failure too, let’s add that on his resume - and his awful laughter cut off into something uneven and gasping, almost crying but not quite because he _refused-_

 _“Shit-_ Akechi, it’s okay, alright? Let’s get you off the floor…”

Goro let himself be manhandled. Kurusu helped him up off the floor, guided him to the living room sofa instead. Morgana followed them, the cat not saying a word as Kurusu eased Goro’s useless self down, a hand between his shoulder blades, a warm, solid weight. Goro could feel himself shake in place, and he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. 

Kurusu was staring at him. Morgana was staring at him, perched on the arm of the sofa, peering around Kurusu like Goro was some bizarre animal that had escaped from the zoo. It was too much. Goro had no idea how to fucking _deal with this._

His body decided crying was the way to deal with it. The breathless sobs wrenched out of him like dry-heaving, his ribs spasming with the force of trying to choke it all down. He ground the heels of his palms into his damp eyes, hating, _hating,_ and Kurusu continued to be _kind,_ murmuring softly to him, like he was a wounded animal he was trying to coax out of the hole it crawled into to _die-_

“S-Stop being… _kind_ to me…” Goro gasped out, pathetically.

“Why?” Kurusu asked.

Goro shook his head. 

“Why?” Kurusu repeated, a little more firmly, more Joker - utterly merciless, “What would you want me to be instead?”

Angry. Goro knew how to deal with anger. Disdainful, maybe. Mocking. Something - _anything_ for Goro to unshackle this pathetic urge to- to _cling,_ to muster the bile necessary to _backstab you-!_ And he couldn’t- he couldn’t- even with Shido looming over him, even with his plans shattering to pieces before his eyes, Goro bowed his head and meekly said _‘i don’t know’_ when offered the chance to betray the Phantom Thieves with nothing to lose and everything to _gain_ -

“Why wouldn’t I be kind?” Kurusu asked softly. 

“Because I’m a _wreck!”_ Goro rasped, raking his fingers through his hair, his eyes stinging and he knew - knew he looked fucking _awful._ Bruised face, red-rimmed eyes, tears - ugly, cursed child, so fucking- “I’m some damned, useless piece of-”

“You are _not,”_ Kurusu said, with an intense, quiet anger. 

_“-shit!”_ Goro finished defiantly, “I’m pathetic- and don’t you _dare_ disagree! I don’t need your pity, Kurusu!”

Kurusu said nothing, and Goro felt a nauseous spasm in his chest of - _did i finally cross a line?_ \- the instinctive need to apologise- bitten back, swallowed down, his hands clenched into fists on his thighs, trembling. The silence between them was filled with his ugly, uneven sniffles. 

“You’re not pathetic,” Kurusu finally said, “You’re the furthest thing from that.” 

“Shut up,” Goro bit out, but it lacked a savage edge. 

“The only pathetic person around here,” Kurusu continued, “Was whoever hit you, who _keeps_ hurting you.”

The unsaid question lingered between them, and Goro swallowed thickly, his throat feeling like it was full of sandpaper. He didn’t answer it, just dug his knuckles into his thighs, the cuts on his fingers stinging. If he said it aloud, it became more… definite, real. Easier to think it was from a botched job in the Metaverse like usual than…

Goro’s gaze skittered around his apartment, and in his periphery he saw Kurusu lean in slightly. 

“Who hit you?” Kurusu asked, his voice soft and velvety and _Joker._

Goro turned his head away and said nothing.

Kurusu waited, patiently, but after several long, taut minutes, he eased back with a soft sigh. 

“Okay,” he murmured, “I won’t push.” 

Goro felt an odd mix of relief and disappointment. Maybe there was a part of him that hoped he’d push, that would force all this ugliness out in the open. Kurusu’s kindness would shrivel into nothingness then - but as usual, Goro was too much of a coward to do it. He kept his mouth shut. He said nothing. 

“I do want to help you with that, though,” Kurusu continued, and Goro stifled a flinch when he felt fingers gently brush his hair away from his ruined cheek. Some strands clung to the dark scabbing, “I think Takemi might have something that can make it look less…”

“Ugly?” Goro muttered, his voice sounding small. 

“Painful,” Kurusu said firmly, “C’mon.”

Goro felt a flutter of panic when Kurusu tugged him off the sofa, digging in his heels, “I’m not seeing your back alley doctor-!”

“She won’t say anything,” Kurusu huffed.

No, Takemi was the very spirit of discretion, but she would _know._ She won’t say a damn thing, but she would look at Goro and _know._ Kurusu knowing was mortifying enough - it made him want to claw off his skin and set it on _fire -_ but some random quack who illegally sold experimental drugs to high school students!?

Kurusu sighed at the stubborn defiance in Goro’s expression. 

“Please?” Kurusu tried, “She’ll have something that’ll make it go away quickly, I _promise._ Remember when I got stabbed by a fork? It healed up quick thanks to her.” 

“It’s better than whatever you were doing before,” Morgana said, speaking up for the first time. When Goro looked at him, the cat looked uncomfortable, like he wasn’t sure how to process the embarrassing breakdown he had just witnessed, “You keep reopening the cut, don’t you?”

Goro squirmed in place, beneath both Morgana’s judging stare and Kurusu’s frown, “It- the bruising will go down if I alternate between ice and heat…”

“We’re going to Takemi’s,” Kurusu said, his tone brooking no argument, “Mona’s right, you’re going to make it worse if you keep carrying on. How’re you going to deal if that scars?”

Kurusu’s tone was meant to be teasing, but Goro felt a spasm of panic at the thought. How would he deal if it scarred? Not at all, that was the answer. 

“...fine,” Goro muttered, “I’ll see the quack.”

“Please don’t call her that to her face,” Kurusu groaned. 

It felt weird, putting his boots on under the watchful eye of Kurusu and Morgana, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t been having a psychotic meltdown less than five minutes ago and they were about to walk outside like everything was normal. He pulled his hood up and put on a face mask for good measure, and while Kurusu gave him a look, he said nothing about it. 

“You good?” Kurusu asked.

“Yeah,” Goro said and, strangely, it wasn’t a complete lie. For the first time since he left Shido’s office, he felt less… flayed open. He still felt terrible and humiliated and a little lost, but somehow Kurusu - the source of his half of his woes - made him feel… better. A little. A fraction. That awkward crying fit had eased that crushing pressure in him slightly. 

_i don’t get it,_ Goro thought tiredly to himself, _i don’t understand why…_

The resentful anger was still there, but it lost its bite. It was difficult to feel resentful when faced with Kurusu’s open, genuine concern. Goro just felt uneasy and unsure. He wasn’t sure if it was a better feeling to have. 

It didn’t matter. He just needed to kill Okumura and… he can regain his control over this situation, he was sure. Kill Okumura, stave off Shido’s displeasure, keep the Phantom Thieves _far away from him,_ and then it’s just running the clock down to December. Goro can do that. He can do that. 

December. 

Three months. 

He can do that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well then


	17. AKIRA IX: The Meeting

Akira wasn’t normally a violent person.

People really seemed to _think_ that he was, at least according to the whispers scattered throughout the school hallways that followed him no matter how invisible he tried to be. But the truth of the matter was that Akira liked the rush of adrenaline from fighting shadows on the Metaverse, and liked facing an _unbeatable_ opponent and coming out on top anyway- but he never wanted to hurt an _actual_ person.

The exception to that was Akechi’s piece of shit father, or whoever it was who had hurt him. Sure he didn’t have _proof_ that it was his father, but with all the other circumstantial evidence he had collected on the basis that Goro Akechi’s father was an abusive asshole, what was one more slash across the face to add to the list of things he was to blame for?

Akira was going to kill him.

It’d be a slow painful death, he’d make sure of it. The guy would be on the ground groveling for Akechi’s forgiveness and apologizing for every unforgivable thing he ever did to him. It wouldn’t be enough, and after he was taken care of, Akechi would turn to him and he’d look so unbelievably happy and _free-_

“You have that weird look on your face again,” Morgana says, peeking at him from his spot where he was half-hidden by Akira’s body on the booth seat next to him. He’s almost positive that Sojiro is well aware that he’s harboring his favorite feline companion in the small space between himself and the wall, but his temporary legal guardian seems to be feeling especially lenient today. Well, that or Morgana and Sojiro had somehow brokered some sort of deal while Akira was gone in Hawaii, with Futaba acting as mediator. Stranger things had happened.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Akira lies in practice for when he was going to have to go on the run for murder. Might as well start living up his life of crime and small white lies now while he still had the chance.

“It’s because he’s in _love_ ~” Futaba sings from her spot on one of the barstools at the counter and Akira nearly chokes. That was a complete exaggeration. Love was...big. Scary. Terrifying. Like how it felt looking down at the ground far below Kaneshiro’s palace, except someone was behind him telling him to jump and he didn’t have any sort of powers or a plan- just a drop and his own uselessly pounding heart.

“I’m not in... _that_ ,” Akira tells her like a mature intellectual. “I’m just thinking…of...things.”

Futaba rolls her eyes and turns back to her laptop. “Yeah sure whatever, just try not to strain yourself.”

Akira releases a heavy breath and stumps onto the table. He’s supposed to be studying while he waits for the others but he can’t even focus; instead, he keeps finding himself once again glued to his phone, hoping for a response from the one person who seemed to be determined to turn all of his hair gray before the tender age of eighteen.

It had been...a long past two days.

There was nothing quite like finding out that the principal had a stroke in the police station at a school assembly. Then almost immediately finding out that while Akira had been on vacation, debatably the most important person in his life had been assaulted by someone who was very likely his father.

Akechi’s face had looked bad. It was _still_ bad, considering how obviously an injury like that wasn’t about to be healed overnight. Takemi had done her best but even she, in all her highly questionable practices, couldn’t exactly perform miracles.

While they were at her clinic, Akechi had been adamant in insisting that he walked into a door, despite everyone in the room not believing that excuse for a second. Takemi, to his relief, hadn’t asked questions, but she _had_ pulled Akira aside afterward.

 _“You want to explain the case with your friend here?”_ She said while Akira stood there fidgeting, staring at the door she’d closed for privacy, and wanting desperately to grab Goro who was waiting on the other side of it and leave. Even after all those very questionable and likely illegal drug studies he’d been doing for her, she still was looking at him as if _he_ was the one who had done this to Akechi. The thought made him angrier than it probably should, considering she didn’t know any better since they...never exactly told her anything even slightly resembling the truth.

 _“He doesn’t tell me much,”_ he’d said curtly, _“but I’ve been keeping an eye on him. Don’t worry.”_

 _“Yeah, sure,”_ she’d said, giving him a look that told him she was still skeptical. _“You do that.”_

And then Akira had promptly excused himself, slipping back into the waiting room with Akechi before he decided to walk out and go home without him.

“You sure Akechi is coming?” Futaba asks.

“He said he’d be here,” Akira says simply, keeping his voice flat and even.

He’d give away nothing.

Akira had made sure not to tell anyone what was going on with Akechi and he intended to keep it that way. All they knew, all they _had to know_ , was that Goro hadn’t been answering the group chat and so Akira had gone over to his apartment to check on him. Akira had informed the group he was okay, which was only partially the truth. Because while Akechi wasn’t found bleeding out on the floor of his barren apartment, he also wasn’t doing _okay_ by any standard definition of the term.

Of course, if any of the Phantom Thieves decided to make a big deal out of his appearance, which Akechi had very adamantly professed he’d prefer not to talk about, then Akira was fully prepared to give them hell over it.

His phone pings and Akira almost ends up dropping the thing in his hurry to look at who’d texted him, only to frown down at it when he sees Ryuji had sent a message in the group chat.

_**[1634] Ryuji:** Yo are you guys seeing this shit?_

_**[1634] Ann:** Seeing what Ryuji?_

_**[1634] Ryuji:** Turn on the news!_

With her phone in hand, Futaba wordlessly gets up and changes the channel. Sojiro peeks up from his crossword puzzle in response, but returns to it wordlessly when he loses interest again moments later.

The very first thing they’re greeted with on screen is the title card behind the newscasters’ speaking, the dark impossible words instantly causing the blood to drain from his face.

_**Shujin principal Kobayakawa’s death has been ruled as another mental shutdown.** _

_“...however, despite initial reports,”_ the one newscaster continues whatever she’d been saying as Akira listens in. _“Police have now concluded that the physical effects were the same as those in known mental shutdown cases.”_

“So, it wasn’t a stroke after all!? And they’re just releasing this now!?” Morgana yowls in clear distress, and Akira nods as he looks back down at the group chat.

_**[1637] Yusuke:** To think that they would target the principal of your school._

_**[1637] Futaba:** This seems targeted to me, I don’t like this._

_**[1638] Ryuji:** I never liked the guy, but man this is so shitty._

_**[1638] Ann:** To think he was another mental shutdown victim..._

_**[1639] Me:** Everyone try to get here early. We have a lot to talk about._

It doesn’t escape his notice that Akechi still doesn’t respond.

That far too familiar pit of worry makes its way home within Akira’s chest once more. Akechi had said he was coming, and Akira...wouldn’t exactly blame him if he didn’t show up at all. And he’s well aware of how so completely fucked up it is that Akira had just learned that his principal had likely been targeted by a killer roaming the Metaverse due to the Phantom Thieves going to his school- and yet, the only thing his mind can seem to focus on is Akechi. He hates the idea of being seen as clingy, but Akira worried endlessly about him, especially now after recent events, and he just wanted to know that he was okay. Or well, he supposes as okay as Akechi possibly could be.

He’s pulled by his quiet sulking when Mona lightly taps his arm with his paw, his feline expression surprisingly gentle.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s go upstairs until the others get here.”

***

Less than an hour later, the group (minus Akechi) is gathered in Leblanc’s attic. Since he’d come up here early, Akira had managed to claim residence of his own sofa and therefore wasn’t stuck on one of the very uncomfortable wooden chairs that Sojiro had laying around up here. The spot next to him on the sofa was currently in use by Morgana who he’d managed to get to stay there by promising him sushi later if he just went along with Akira for the day. Morgana had given him a very skeptical look, but luckily he was always very easily bought at the mere mention of sushi.

“Like Futaba said, this has to be effin’ targeted!” Ryuji says a little too loudly, considering Leblanc was still open for business downstairs. “Why else would they pick our principal!?”

He continues to stomp around the room in a way that has Akira slightly concerned about his creaky floorboards, as he has been since he first showed up about ten minutes ago.

“So, you think this could be our fault?” Ann asks quietly from the chair on the other side of the small table Akira had set up before they’d gotten here. The response she receives is almost instantaneous.

“We didn’t have anything to do with this!” Morgana yowls.

“Yeah we’re just trying to stop the bad guys, we don’t kill people!” Ryuji says at the same time.

“I know that but…” Ann trails off, clearly bothered by all this.

Akira takes a deep breath, his fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. He understood where she was coming from but this wasn’t their fault. None of this was their fault. They were just teenagers who’d gotten caught up in all this shit and were trying their best to do the right thing. They didn’t deserve- _he_ didn’t deserve-

“He’s right Ann,” Akira finds himself saying, the fingers on his leg curling into a tight fist. “Targeted or not, our justice wouldn’t have allowed for any of our targets to go free without consequences.”

Everyone stops what they’re doing and turns to look at him, even Yusuke who’d been busy sketching something on a napkin, and Futaba who’d been furiously typing on her laptop. He ignores all of their stares in favor of looking back down at the dead black-screen of his phone.

“Uh...yeah,” Ann says a bit awkwardly, breaking the sudden silence. “Say, Akira did you...find out what happened to Goro’s phone?”

“His phone is fine,” Akira responds curtly, glad to at least see that she was still going along with the lie that it was a phone issue like he had told them all. He pauses, a thought crossing his mind as he meets her eyes. “But don’t ask him any questions when he shows up.”

“Okay…?”

He briefly looks at each of his friends in turn to make sure that they understood that had been addressed to them all, and then returns to his phone, unlocking it this time.

“Do you think that maybe Akechi got a boyfriend while Akira was in Hawaii?” Ryuji whispers to Ann, loud enough to be heard by everyone as usual.

“God don’t even joke,” Ann quickly whispers back to him.

A brief stab of pain at the unwelcome thought hits Akira, but he quickly shoves it away since he knows for certain that’s not the case at all. And so, he pretends not to hear them.

“There’s nothing we can do about any of this now,” Mona says, turning the discussion back to the actual topic at hand. “We just have to be _careful_.”

With that, Morgana shoots a pointed look at Akira, which he’s a little hurt by since he tried his best to be careful...most of the time. But before he can properly defend himself, Akira’s focus gets snagged on the sight of a familiar form walking up the final steps into the attic. His pulse flutters like a dog wagging its tail and a wave of relief hits him as Akechi walks into the room, his hoodie on with the hood pulled all the way up. Still, despite his best efforts there was no hiding his busted face that’s still visibly angry and swollen, even with the layer of makeup he very likely tried to cover it with.

The rest of the group goes dead silent, and Akira feels the silent rage burning beneath his skin.

Akira didn’t care who Akechi’s piece of shit father was, he was going to _kill_ him.

Gently nudging Morgana with his hand, he gives a slight tilt of his head that’s thankfully quickly understood.

“Yeah yeah I get it,” Morgana mutters, rising to his feet and leaping onto the table.

“My apologies,” Akechi says, his eyes finding Akira from across the room. “I did not get your message that we were meeting early.” His voice sounds stunted and awkward, his detective prince persona falling short as if he didn’t have the energy to keep it up anymore.

No one says a word of greeting, as if taking Akira’s word far too seriously, and Goro continues to hover by the stairs as if he might bolt at any moment.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Akira says quickly. “We just started.”

Akechi gives him a short nod, hesitating for a moment more before finally making his way across the room and stiffly sitting next to him on the sofa.

The rest of the group remains deathly quiet, stuck in a state of disbelief as they look between Akechi’s wounded face and each other, Futaba the only one of them to actively avoid looking altogether. Akechi tenses under their scrutiny, his fingers visibly digging into his thighs, and Akira meets the eyes of each of his friends looking in their direction until they look the hell away.

“You okay?” Akira asks Akechi, softening his expression. He notices that Akechi visibly relaxes once he’s no longer the focus of everyone in the room.

“I’m fine, Kurusu,” he says, tone flat and rigid. “Stop worrying.”

Of course, Akira doesn’t believe that for a second. He lets it go though, turning his attention back to the group who seem to be in a textbook rendition of ‘acting natural’.

“So, uh...about this meeting…” Ann says like a true queen of finesse. He at least admires the effort. She turns her gaze to Akechi a bit hesitantly and asks, “You did at least get our messages right, Goro? So, you know what happened with the principal?”

Akechi slowly nods. “I am...aware.”

“Oh um, okay good,” Ann says when it’s clear he’s not going to add anything to that.

It has to be abundantly clear to everyone in the room that Akechi is acting reserved and not at all himself, but Akira just really hopes that they’d know better than to say anything. Akechi was strong, but he was also a lot like a skittish wild animal in a lot of ways. Push him too hard when he didn’t want to be pushed, and he’d either lash out or flee altogether, possibly even both. Akira wouldn’t let that happen, not after he’s been trying so hard to avoid that very thing for months now.

“Okay…” Futaba bludgeons through the silence, to her credit sounding completely normal. “Well anyway, while you guys were busy doing nothing in Hawaii, I asked Sojiro for my mom’s research and I’ve been looking through it.”

Akira blinks at her in surprise. He actually hadn’t known that, and he would have thought that’d be something she’d tell him almost immediately.

“Oh really?” Ann asks, eyes wide. “Wow Futaba, you _were_ busy.”

“Heheh of course I was.”

“You find anything?” Ryuji asks.

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Next to him, Akechi makes a small distressed sound and practically faceplants into the side of Akira’s shoulder. The first thought Akira has is how that probably has to hurt considering the condition of his face, but when a moment passes and Akechi still doesn’t move, Akira wraps a tentative arm around him.

“You sure you’re okay?” Akira asks him quietly as the rest of the group have their focus on Futaba- who has since launched into providing scientific explanations for things that have become commonplace for them in the Metaverse.

“Migraine,” Akechi says in explanation, his voice muffled.

Akira notices a few looks thrown their way and he gives a vague gesture that they were fine and to continue.

“There’s still some things I haven’t been able to get to,” Futaba says as Akira finally tunes in. “But her notes mention that a ‘Subject Zero’ had helped her prove several things about the Metaverse.”

“So, you mean like another Persona user?” Ann asks and Futaba nods.

“It seems like it.”

“Woah, nice work Futaba!” Ryuji says.

“Are you thinking this might be the Black Mask we keep hearing about?” Yusuke asks.

“Mhmm I think it might be,” Futaba answers quickly, as if she’d already thought about this. “Whoever it was had undergone several experiments, but I uh...still need to look more into that part. She doesn’t really go into detail.”

Akechi pushes his face harder into his shoulder and emits a pained sound. He wonders if maybe the injury on his face was contributing to his migraine and hopes that this wasn’t another case of a hangover; Akechi was going through so much it probably wouldn’t be out of the question for him to have tried to get drunk again after he went back to his apartment. Frowning at the thought, Akira gently starts to rub his hand lightly up and down Akechi’s back. If this did happen to be alcohol related, then Akira didn’t want to even offer any sort of medication for the pain. He’d maybe consider trying to run his hands through his hair to help soothe some of the tension of his headache, but that would require removing the hood he was still hiding under, which he wasn’t about to do.

“I’m guessing you have no idea who it actually is?” Morgana says.

Futaba shakes her head. “I don’t remember anyone coming around that my mom was working with. And she just keeps referring to them as Subject Zero from what I’ve seen so far.”

“And so...that gets us nowhere,” Ryuji says, visibly deflating.

“Basically. But if this Subject Zero and the Black Mask really are the same persona user, then I think they could be the one that killed mom.” Her voice wavers a little at the end, and the mood in the room turns somber. Akira continues to rub Akechi’s back, who has gone completely still to the point that Akira would question if he’d fallen asleep if he couldn’t feel how tensed up he was, probably from the pain.

“Oh…” Ann says quietly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah…” Futaba says slowly, before straightening in her seat, her expression taking on a determined edge as she gazes down at the screen of her laptop. “There was something else though. In her notes she mentioned that Subject Zero was an ‘experiment gone wrong’.”

Akira’s shoulder starts to ache a little with how hard Akechi is pressing into it, but he doesn’t dare move. If doing that was helping him somehow, then Akira could endure.

“Wait,” says Ann. “If they were a failed experiment, then how could they continue doing shutdowns?”

“You think maybe they went a little...” Ryuji does the loopy gesture with his hand. “Then they decided to start killin’ people in the Metaverse?”

“Perhaps...” Yusuke says contemplatively. “But if she had known they were a danger, why would she allow them to continue without stopping them?”

“Maybe she didn’t know how?” Ann suggests.

“Wait wait…” Ryuji says, as if just realizing something. “This means your mom was into some crazy experiments on people, Futaba.”

“They...they were probably a consenting test subject!” She shoots back defensively.

Akechi mutters something into his shoulder, far too quiet and muffled for Akira to make out. It occurs to him then that all of this going back and forth between each other couldn’t possibly be helping with Akechi’s headache. It would probably be for the best if they got to the main reason they were here.

“We can discuss this all more later if we get any more information,” Akira says, making sure to keep his voice low as he finally addresses them all. “Nice work Futaba. For now, we should probably find our next target.”

“ _Ohh_ yeah, that reminds me,” Futaba says. “While you guys were gone, Mona and I tried Okumura’s name in the Nav since we were talking about him before, and he totally has a palace.”

“So, that settles it! Let’s take down his ass!” Ryuji says far too loudly and Akira shushes him with a glare. “Oh uh, sorry man,” he sheepishly adds.

“I find Okumura to be a suitable target,” Yusuke agrees, thankfully keeping his voice down.

“We’ve discussed before what a dirtbag this guy is,” says Ann. “So, I say we take him down.”

“Then are we all in agreement?” Morgana asks the group as a whole and almost simultaneously everyone’s gaze falls back to Akechi who had yet to utter a single word.

“Um Goro?” Ann asks a bit hesitantly. “Are you yes or no for Okumura?”

“Obviously yes, I mean, he’s total scum!” Ryuji immediately cuts in, only for his grin to fall when Akechi still doesn’t say a word. “Wait, did he fall asleep?”

Akira gently nudges him. “Akechi?”

That earns a response as Akechi takes in a deep breath and slowly straightens, finally detaching himself from Akira’s shoulder. “Yes, fine,” he says evenly after another moment passes. “I vote yes.”

He looks half-dead and Akira’s heart pangs in sympathy for him.

“But not for a few days,” Akira quickly adds before he can think better of it. In a tone that brokers no argument he tells the group, “I think _all_ of us need a break.”

“Uh yeah, totally man,” Ryuji quickly agrees, followed by nods of agreement and understanding from the others.

Akechi, of course, says nothing.

***

Exactly one day later, it’s after school and Akira is on a mission.

It’s of course a self-imposed mission, one that had been born of complete spontaneity after he’d spotted Akechi at the station while on his way back to Leblanc. Akira possibly would have considered approaching him like a perfectly normal and functioning individual, but Akechi also hadn’t answered the text he’d sent him earlier in the day. And Akira had at first measured that up to the fact that maybe- _hopefully_ Akechi was at home and resting until he was ready to go back into the public eye again. That had, after all, been the reason that Akira decided to delay anything relating to Phantom Thief business for the next few days. So, suddenly spotting Akechi out and about, his face looking substantially better- likely with the help of makeup now that the swelling had apparently gone down- well, Akira was _curious_ where he might be headed.

...Okay and maybe there was a small part of him that wondered if Akechi was maybe going out to meet this mysterious father figure of his. And if he was, then Akira would be there to stop anything from happening. Whether or not that plan involved murder was yet to be determined.

So, it’s with this line of thinking that he finds himself in Odaiba after trailing Akechi there from the station. It’s not exactly where he would have expected to end up, but that fact alone only adds to his curiosity.

“I’m glad you’re at least starting to be a bit more concerned.” Morgana tells him from over his shoulder as Akira peeks out around the side of a building and watches Akechi vanish down another street corner. “I told you Akechi was suspicious.”

“Suspicious?” Akira responds in confusion as he quickly hurries across the street to his next hiding spot around the corner of another building.

“Yeah you…” he trails off before releasing a small huff that served as the feline equivalent of a very tired sigh. “Joker, why are we out here?”

“I’m worried about him, Mona. What if he’s going to see his father again…”

“ _That’s_ why we’re following him!?” Morgana yowls way too loudly considering they were supposed to be avoiding directing attention to themselves.

“Shh!” Akira quickly shushes him. He watches Akechi round the next street corner, waits a few moments, and then darts to the next hiding place. He doesn’t feel as graceful as he normally does in the Metaverse when he guides the team through the shadows, but he finds himself glad to at the very least have the experience. “Anyway,” he whispers, breathing a little heavy, “the Black Mask is probably this Subject Zero guy, not Akechi. I don’t know why you’re so worried.”

“Did you ever think that maybe Akechi could be both?” Morgana asks just as quietly and Akira frowns. Logically he supposes it’s not an _impossible_ prospect but there wasn’t any proof or enough evidence to prove something like that. And what was he supposed to do, accuse Akechi of being the Black Mask and this Subject Zero guy when he was already going through so much?

He watches Akechi turn another corner and he lets out a sigh. “I mean I’m pretty sure he would mention if he took part in Wakaba’s cognitive pscience experiments,” Akira says quietly to Morgana as he makes his way forward, realizing a little belatedly that it looked as if they were approaching some kind of construction zone. “We did go through all of Futaba’s palace with him.”

“Yeah, and he was acting weird!” Morgana whisper-yells. “Probably because he knew her!”

Akira frowns. “He’s just been really stressed.”

“ _Joker,_ ” Morgana says very patiently. “I know that you have feelings for him or whatever, but you can’t just-”

“Shit, I lost him,” Akira interrupts as he peeks out from his latest hiding place, quickly realizing that Akechi was no longer in sight.

“Don’t just interrupt me!”

Ignoring him, Akira steps forward out of his shelter in an attempt to find where he disappeared to. Gazing around, he finds that he’s ended up at the construction zone not far from where the fair had taken place a small lifetime ago, the one that had been ungodly hot and would have been a completely miserable time if not for one bright spot of the day. He smiles to himself as he slowly moves forward, remembering the way Akechi had looked in his makeshift disguise, and the way he’d reacted to seeing himself on the news later that same day. Peeking between his fingers in clear embarrassment and looking utterly adorable. His little hedgehog.

“Your stalking efforts could really use some work.”

Akira spins around only to see Akechi leaning against the wall of the construction zone, arms crossed and an amused grin on his features. Up close Akira can really notice the difference in how much makeup was able to cover up a majority of the damage. Whatever Takemi had given him must be helping, because now if Goro were to tell him that he face-planted into the sidewalk or some other wild excuse, he might have actually believed him. But Akira should...probably stop staring at his face. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Akira fidgets, more than a little embarrassed to have been caught following him in the first place. Some Phantom Thief leader he was. He wonders how long Akechi had known he was trailing him, but is honestly kind of afraid to find out.

“I’m not...stalking,” he finally professes, albeit weakly.

Akechi raises a brow at him, wincing a little as he does so, and pushes himself away from the wall.

“And so you just decided on a whim that you needed to visit a stadium that’s still under construction?”

He knows he’s going to have to give him an answer, but still, Akira hesitates, not entirely sure what to tell him. He _would_ tell him the truth, but he’s not sure if _‘I was following you to see if I could find and kill your dad’_ , would serve as a socially acceptable answer.

“I like the atmosphere?” He offers instead, lips tilting into a hopeful little smile.

Akechi only gives him a look in response and Akira sighs in defeat, raising a hand from his pocket to mess with his fringe.

“You didn’t answer my text again and I got worried.” He shrugs and finds himself wishing for a hole to open up in the earth and eat him so he didn’t have to try to explain to Goro Akechi how he was an idiot who decided to follow him for the better part of an hour. “So, when I saw you at the station I just…” he vaguely gestures.

“You followed,” Akechi finishes for him and sighs. “Honestly Kurusu, I’ve survived this long without being _coddled_.”

At the very least Akechi doesn’t seem angry, which is a very welcome relief. ...Or creeped out for that matter- really this entire situation was yet another lesson in why Akira needed to think things through more. One day he’d figure it out…Hopefully.

“I know that…” Akira starts to say, only to be saved from fumbling through some sort of awkward apology by a familiar voice calling out to him,

“Senpai!?” The both of them look over to see Kasumi approaching them, a smile in place that seems to feel a bit more flat than usual. More forced. “And Akechi-senpai! Oh wow, I didn’t expect to find you both here!”

Akira gives her a small wave in greeting.

“Yoshizawa-san,” Akechi greets with a curt nod. Akira notices how her gaze lingers on Akechi’s face for a beat too long, and yet she doesn’t say anything when she looks away shortly after. It’s unclear if it’s because he doesn’t actually look that bad or because Kasumi is too nice of a person to comment, but either way, Akira is thankful for her subtlety.

“Oh um, did either of you want a juice box?” Kasumi asks as she pulls a small sealed drink out of her bag. “I got it from Dr. Maruki when I went to see him at the end of the day, but I don’t really want it.”

“Sure, I’ll take it.” Akira says, never one to pass up free snacks, and takes the offered drink. As he punctures it with the straw and takes a sip he feels Akechi’s eyes on him. “Did you want some?” Akira asks him somewhat hopefully, holding the box out to him, and is surprised when Akechi eyes it for a moment before taking it. Akira then watches, his mouth suddenly very dry, as Akechi puts his lips over the straw where Akira’s own mouth was just moments before.

Akechi, as if stepping straight out of one of Akira’s wet dreams, makes eye contact with him over the juice box and slips the straw slowly from his mouth as he asks, “Who’s Dr. Maruki?”

Akira couldn’t answer if he tried. Silently he begs any god that might be up there to please make it so Akechi passes it back over to him. He might actually die here if he does, but it’d be a death well worth it.

“He’s our school therapist!” Kasumi answers in Akira’s place.

“I see,” Akechi says simply, taking another slow sip before once again looking towards Akira. “And do you see him too, Kurusu?” He asks, passing the juice box back over to him.

 _Thank you_ , Akira thinks to whoever’s up there, even if the juice box is now almost entirely empty.

“Uh yeah,” he answers noncommittally, his focus almost entirely on the box in his hand. Feeling the weight of Akechi’s stare, Akira shoves the straw into his mouth and drains whatever’s left, his very stupid heart beating way too fast over the fact that the straw was definitely wet and one way or another their saliva was now in each other’s mouths.

_Hell yeah._

“Hmm,” Akechi hums, looking thoughtful. He’s pretty sure Akechi’s still thinking about the fact that Akira did in fact see a school therapist, but if Akira’s being honest, he really has no idea what’s going on in Akechi’s head half the time.

“What?” Akira ends up asking once curiosity gets the best of him. “You don’t like therapists?”

Akechi scoffs. “I’d rather not have my brain picked apart and dissected by someone who knows nothing about me other than what they can glean from what I say.”

“It’s a school counselor's office, not a research lab,” Akira points out.

“Haven’t you been helping him with his research though?” Morgana the Great Betrayer says, finally speaking up only to be entirely unhelpful.

Akechi raises a brow.

“Anyway,” Akira says, looking over at Kasumi and attempting to change the subject like a true professional. ‘What are you doing here Kasumi?”

From the corner of his eye he notices Akechi frown, looking confused. “...Kasumi?” he mutters.

“Don’t tell me you forgot my name already!” Kasumi says, clearly having heard him anyway. “It wasn’t that long ago we spoke!”

Akechi’s eyes go wide, and Akira sees the telltale signs of the detective prince persona start to creep into his features. It’s a little creepy in a way, having seen the real Akechi for so long, only to see the fragments of the mask come out of nowhere and transform what’s real into something defensive and fully fabricated.

“Ah no,” Akechi says, smiling pleasantly. “Of course not.”

It’s this slip into the mask that has Akira eyeing him critically. He was bothered by something, had been caught off guard, and was trying to hide it.

He tries to catch his eye, but gives up once Kasumi starts speaking again.

“Honestly, I like to come here when I’m a little down,” she says, tone taking on a somber edge. “I know the Stadium isn’t built yet, but I think that’s part of why I find it so calming. No one’s ever really here, you know?”

“I suppose I can-”

_“Beginning Navigation.”_

Akechi stops whatever it was he’d been saying when the voice of the Nav rings out between the three of them, and Akira and Akechi share a wide-eyed look moments before the world shifts in the far too familiar way.

It’s always a little disorienting when crossing the divide between the real world and the Metaverse, and so it takes Akira a few moments to get his bearings. The first thing he registers is the comfortable feel of his Metaverse outfit, quickly accompanied by the energy buzzing across his skin in a mixture of trepidation and exhilaration.

Lifting his head, Joker’s gaze finds Crow standing close by, already fully recovered, standing there and looking around with some sort of white knight out of a storybook, his lightsaber resting against his hip. No matter how many times he saw him like this, the sight of him in that getup never stopped being one of the best things Joker had ever seen in his lifetime.

There was also a giant towering structure above them that was a little interesting to look at, but honestly Joker had his priorities. They went into palaces all the time, what was one more really?

“This atmosphere...Is this a palace!?” Mona yowls, and Joker looks over to see his favorite large-headed monster cat. “But we never activated the Nav!”

“Whose palace is this?” Crow asks before Joker can even try to respond. Not that he had any answers anyway.

“I don’t know,” he answers him honestly.

Crow shoots him a look. “How did we get in then?”

Joker shrugs. “I don’t know?” he repeats.

“You are very calm about this,” Crow says, narrowing his eyes at him.

“I like to take life as it comes to me.”

“Um, guys!?” Mona interrupts them. “Haven’t either of you noticed that we’re kind of missing a person here?”

Joker blinks at him before looking around the immediate area. “Oh yeah,” he says, surprised that he didn’t see her around anywhere. “Was Kasumi not brought in with us?”

Unfortunately, both Mona and Crow seem about as confused as Joker himself feels. Crow takes a few steps forward, looking around the area a bit more thoroughly as Joker turns back to Mona.

“She was standing right here when the Nav somehow activated,” Mona says. “So, I think she has to be here somewhere...”

But that...didn’t really make sense. At least from what Joker understood about palaces. “We’re always transported to the entrance of a palace,” he says, looking between Crow and Mona. “Why wouldn’t she be too?”

Something was off.

“Something clearly isn’t right here,” Crow says, echoing his thoughts. Taking a few steps toward what looks like the entrance of the palace he turns back to them and says, “Come on, let’s go investigate.”

Not really having a better plan, Joker quickly follows after him with Mona right on his heels.

The moment they walk into the actual palace building, Joker has to admit that it is pretty impressive looking in scale. Still, there’s definitely something not quite right about the palace itself that has him reaching back for the dagger on his hip just to make sure it’s still there. It’s an unexplainable feeling, a little like walking into an abandoned house and having the innate awareness that it didn’t want him there. Which is all the more strange considering that most palaces they went to actively had people who hated them as rulers, and here this place had...sucked them in? Or something?

Honestly, Joker was still trying to wrap his head around it.

Either way he finds himself stepping a bit closer to Crow, and doesn’t miss the slightly exasperated look he gets in response.

“I don’t think she’s here,” Mona says, looking around and seeming a bit uncertain himself. “Let’s go further in.”

“And keep your eye out for anything we can use to identify this palace’s ruler,” Crow adds.

Joker nods, and together they walk into the almost too-white atmosphere of the palace.

The first place they head is the door near the top that Crow suggests trying first. And as they cross the palace interior to get there, the room they’re in suspiciously devoid of shadows, Joker watches as Crow moves forward with a purpose. It’s a strange thing to think, but Joker finds that Crow seems to be completely in his element and more himself than he has since Joker had returned from Hawaii.

“What?” Crow asks, and Joker suddenly finds himself staring into a pair of intense wine-red eyes. His heart does a feeble little flip in his chest at the sight. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” Joker says quickly, looking away and hiding the small smile that had come to the surface without his meaning to.

Crow thankfully doesn’t question him any further outside of a slightly annoyed huff that’s far cuter than it probably should be, and it doesn’t take them long before they’re in front of the door Mona had pointed out at the top of the steps. Only the moment Joker attempts to push it open, the door doesn’t budge, and he’s met with the magically strong resistance found on all palace doors that didn’t want to be opened.

“How am I not surprised it’s locked,” Crow says with a very tired sigh. “We’ll need to find another way.”

Fortunately, almost immediately after they turn and start making their way back the way they came, they discover a place that looks possible to climb up. And while Joker very quickly finds himself thanking the Metaverse once again for giving him improved athletic ability, Crow moves up the structure with a practiced grace and ease that is far more than just magically enhanced skill. Joker has of course admired his... _abilities_ , on more than one occasion in the time in the past few months. Still, as they jump and climb, Joker finds himself allowing Crow to take the lead. For...reasons.

_“Who’s there!?”_

The voice echoes around the large empty expanse of the palace interior, familiar and undeniably coming from the room straight ahead of them.

“Was that Yoshizawa?!” Mona asks, and Joker steps forward with a nod.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s go.”

“Try not to be careless,” Crow adds with a pointed look towards Joker as if _he_ was the careless one. He responds with an expression filled with all the stark disbelief in the world, because how could he _ever_ be considered careless?

And then he jumps down the towering ledge, sliding down most of the way since it’d been so high above the palace floor.

The other two follow after him, and once the three of them are standing together again, Joker actively pretends not to notice the glare Crow is aiming his way. Instead he focuses his attention on the scene happening a little ahead of them: Kasumi standing with her back to them while she faces what appears to be either her shadow or at the very least a cognitive version of herself in a leotard.

It’s a baffling sight, along with the fact that Joker has absolutely no idea how she managed to get all the way in here, considering she was right next to them when the Nav activated then she just _wasn’t_. He assumes that the palace itself pulled her forward...but that should be impossible. Then again, he supposes he’s not exactly an expert on palaces, so who was he to say that this wasn’t normal. Maybe it was like all those warnings on medication where it would say something like: one in five people have experienced heart pain. Only the warning here would be one in five Nav users might experience random teleportation to somewhere within the palace.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when Crow places a hand on his shoulder. “There’s no use standing around, let’s go,” he says.

As the three of them approach, the girl in the leotard speaks to Kasumi, her tone pleading and desperate.. “You have to fight it…You must...Kasumi…”

“Stop! Stop it!” Kasumi begs, grabbing her head as if in pain as she falls to the ground.

Before Joker can even properly register what’s going on, a shadow bursts out of nowhere right behind the girl in the leotard, and promptly attacks her.

 _Can shadows even...do that?_ Joker thinks to himself, wide-eyed as he watches the cognition fall to the ground in front of Kasumi, reaching her arm towards her as if begging her to take it.

“What the fuck,” Crow mutters beside him.

“You must…'' the cognition pleads before dissolving into the same black substance that made up all shadows. Which left the shadow that had destroyed her looming threateningly over Kasumi’s downed form.

“Come on,” Mona says, the three of them already moving forward, “We need to help her.”

 _“...Heresy.”_ Says the shadow as they all gather around Kasumi. _“You dare to spurn our lord’s mercy…”_

The shadow then bursts open and reveals its true form which looks a lot like a...glorified beetle with arms and legs. Joker isn’t really sure what he’s looking at- personas and shadows were usually a little less...visually ambiguous. But he did have more pressing issues at the moment, so he turns his attention back to Kasumi.

“Yoshizawa-san, can you stand?” Crow asks her.

“That voice...Akechi-senpai?” She asks voice trembling as she regards them, and Akechi gives her a nod of confirmation.

“We came to save you,” Joker adds.

“And Kurusu-senpai?”

Of course, their very warm reunion is cut short as the shadow continues saying...whatever it was that it was saying. Joker couldn’t even begin to guess.

_“Accept yourself… Our lord laments the foolishness birthed from your pain.”_

All these shadows were always so dramatic. Couldn’t there be one that was at least a little normal?

“Why are we standing here listening to this trash?” Crow says to him, looking annoyed. “Isn’t it about time we fight it?”

“What are you talking about!?” Kasumi shouts at the shadow before Joker can answer Crow with a very solid _yes_ , because this thing was starting to get annoying.

And it’s then the muddled voices start. An amalgam of comments heard from across the school hallways, all rumors about Kasumi as well as a mixture of what sounded like teachers with too many expectations.

“Where are these voices…?” Mona asks.

“What the hell is this now?” Crow says at the same time.

Joker just shakes his head because fuck if he knew what was going on.

It’s then however, that Kasumi’s voice cuts through the voices, her anger and frustration a living thing that resounds deeply within her tone. “You’re telling me I’m not cutting it? As if I don’t know that better than anyone! Still, I don’t care what anyone says about me… I will **_not_ **tolerate anyone speaking ill of our dream!” Her voice increases in volume and slowly she starts to stand up, her voice ringing with quiet strength, and Joker becomes immediately aware of what’s likely coming. She had a little unconventional start, but he supposes now was a good a time as ever for an awakening. “It’s all in your best interest…” She takes a deep breath once she’s on her feet, each movement deliberate as she makes her way towards the shadow. “Filing my life with this pressure… Demanding the results that you want…”

“Oh, here we go,” Crow mutters to himself, just low enough for Joker to hear it.

“And now you’re all branding me a failure? Let me all remind you who you’re talking to...I am...Kasumi Yoshizawa!”

The three of them watch as she undergoes the telltale screaming and agony that was normal for the moment a person awakened to their persona. The mask appears on her face, black and sleek, only for her to rip it off with...a lot more grace and a lot less blood than usual. Joker’s on the cusp of being envious of her, when he’s left in complete bafflement at the actual transformation that follows. A spark of light overtakes her in a beautiful display that’s much more akin to a magical girl transformation than the standard change that occurred in a burst of rage and fury.

“What the fuck…” Crow mutters once again and Joker can only nod in agreement.

“Look at that!” Mona says, clearly having been impressed by her very...colorful transformation paired with the objectively beautiful blue persona now hovering behind her.

The contract is then forged, and afterwards Kasumi looks straight at the shadow and says, “I request we have a rematch. This time...I’m going all in with Cendrillon.”

Joker and Crow share a look before jumping into battle beside her.

Of course, the fight doesn’t last long with both Crow and Kasumi mercilessly hitting its weakness with bless attacks. Joker actually finds himself feeling a little sorry for it as the shadow cries out in pain on the ground for a minute or two, not even able to attempt a single attack, before it’s promptly obliterated.

“Well, that was boring,” Crow says afterwards.

“Whew,” Kasumi says, wobbling on her feet a little. “I can’t...be weak anymore…” she grits out, clearly feeling the bone-seated exhaustion that normally set in after the rush of an awakening. She braces herself with her legs as she gets her bearings before managing to stand up straight again.

Crow gives her a small nod of approval before returning to gazing around the palace interior.

“I’m quite impressed,” Mona tells her, “considering how you just awakened to your persona and all.”

“I’d recommend having this chat somewhere else,” Crow cuts in, giving them all an unimpressed look. “Yoshizawa-san is in no condition to fight and there are enemies approaching.”

Joker gives him a nod.

“Alright come on,” he says. “Follow close behind us Kasumi.”

For a brief moment he notices Crow glance between him and Kasumi with an unreadable look on his face, before the mixed roar of a mass of shadows shakes the walls and they all simultaneously turn and hurry back the way that they came.

***

It’s only when they’re back towards the front and Akira’s making his way to their exit that he’s stopped by a fierce tug of his coat.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Crow asks with a pointed look, releasing him.

“Um...out?” Joker tries with a vague gesture towards their exit, not really understanding what he was getting at.

He receives a very tired sounding sigh for his effort as Crow reaches up and massages his temple.

“We came back to the entrance so _Yoshizawa-san_ could get to safety,” he says with a fairly impressive amount of exasperation. “You’re _really_ intending to walk out of a palace without even _trying_ to figure out who it belongs to, knowing that you have no way back in?”

He did...have a point.

“Uh...well…”

Crow takes a deep breath. “Honestly, Joker?”

“Um, is everything okay?” Kasumi asks as she walks up to them.

“Joker and I are going back in,” Crow answers her with a very pleasant smile, to which Kasumi gives Joker a questioning look.

“You are?”

“I guess I am,” Joker says with a shrug. Crow had a point and honestly he really had no complaints about staying around the palace for a bit longer. As long as Crow seemed to be having a nice time, exasperation aside, then he’d stay as long as he wanted. Maybe Joker would even end up getting hurt somehow, and then the two of them could find a safe room where Crow would then be the only one there to patch him up, since Joker would lie and tell him that he’d forgotten to equip a persona with healing spells-

“Before you go,” Kasumi says, interrupting his fantasy. ”Do you mind if I ask you guys some things?”

Crow crosses his arms. “If you must.”

She seems a little taken aback by his abruptness, but Joker understands more than anyone how much he’s been going through so it’s not really surprising to him that Crow’s been a bit more...impatient than usual.

“Um well...if you could please tell me anything about what’s going on?” She asks hopefully. “I need to know what just happened to me.”

He, Crow, and Mona share a look. Joker supposed there was no harm in telling her everything, especially since she’d pretty much experienced it all firsthand. Yet before he can even figure out where to start, Crow cuts in with a response.

“Mona can fill you in on the details while Joker and I go back into the palace.”

“Oh um okay,” she says, eyes wide. “Then can I maybe be so bold as to ask if you three are part of the Phantom Thieves?”

Joker blinks, honestly not having expected her to bring that up of all things. He supposes with their popularity in the media recently, their unexplainable methods of operation, and now seeing this- it was pretty easy to draw a few conclusions. Still, they could lie to her if that would be the best course of action to protect their identities. He looks to Crow, letting him make the call since he had the most at stake here out of all of them.

Crow meets his eyes in understanding, then hesitates for a moment, as if deciding the best course of action.

“I suppose there’s not much harm in saying that we are,” he says finally.

“I knew it,” she says with a smile, before something seems to occur to her. “Wait! That means when the three of us were at the cafe, I basically told the Phantom Thieves themselves that I don’t agree with what they’re doing!” She then turns to Crow in obvious shock. “And wait, _you_ were the one questioning us about them!”

“He likes to cause problems on purpose,” Joker says.

“I was simply curious,” Crow says at the same time.

Crow shoots him a glare and Joker gives him his most innocent smile.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Mona cuts in loudly in his standard _let’s get this train back on track_ tone of voice. “What do you guys say about asking Yoshizawa to become a member of the Phantom Thieves?” He asks with a bit of excitement lining his tone. “Considering how she did back there, don’t you think she’d make a worthy addition?”

“So, you mean you want me to join the Phantom Thieves?” Kasumi asks.

“In a nutshell, yeah,” Mona answers her. “You’ve awakened to your persona and from the looks of things you’ve got quite the potential. If you’re willing to join us, we’d be glad to have you.”

Kasumi looks down with a small frown. “I see...hmm.”

It’s not exactly the best reaction to having been asked to join an internationally famous group of teenagers with supernatural powers, and Joker kind of wants to tell her not to worry about it if she doesn’t want to. Only, of course, Crow beats him to the punch.

“You’re not obligated to agree,” he tells her, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

“Yeah,” Mona agrees. “And I mean, you probably shouldn’t make any decisions until you learn more about what we’re actually doing.”

“Thank you, but... I’m sorry, I have to turn down your offer,” she says finally. “When I awakened to my...persona, was it? I also realized something… I can’t keep obsessing over my shortcomings in gymnastics like this. So, that’s why I can’t join you at the moment…”

“That’s all well and good,” Crow says in a tone that brokers no sympathy. “You feel free to focus on your... _gymnastics_.” Turning to Joker he adds with an overly saccharine smile: “Can we please get going now?”

“I’m truly sorry to say no after all you’ve done for me!” Kasumi says to them, looking half-panicked that she had offended them all somehow, which wasn’t true. Well, she might have offended Crow, but that wasn’t something she should take personally. Crow was offended by things on an hourly basis.

“It’s fine, Kasumi,” Joker quickly assures her. “Just...make sure not to mention this to anyone. Okay?”

“Oh, of course! I won’t tell a soul!”

“And if you ever change your mind just let us know,” Mona says, pausing for a moment before adding, “Also, one more thing. We never talked about how we got in here in the first place.” Turning to look at Kasumi he asks, “You don’t happen to have the Nav do you?”

“The...Nav?”

“It’s a red app with an eye that would have appeared mysteriously on your phone with no explanation,” Crow tells her a bit impatiently, his foot starting to tap a rhythmless beat on the palace floor.

“You also can’t delete it. Believe me, I tried,” Joker tells her, only half joking. He earns a look from Crow for his efforts, which he pointedly ignores.

“Oh no, I have nothing like that!” Kasumi assures them. “At least not that I’m aware of.”

Joker nods, but he’s really not so sure how much he believes that. Not that he _distrusted_ her, but this also wouldn’t be the first time that _someone_ said that they didn’t have the Nav and then _somehow_ managed to end up inside their own palace anyway.

“I think that should cover things, yes?” Crow asks her.

“Yes,” she responds with a genuine smile. “I’m sure Mona-senpai will be able to answer any other questions I have.”

Mona almost instantly puffs out his chest and preens proudly. “ _Senpai_ , huh?” he says. “I like the sound of that. I’ll be sure to tell you anything you want to know, Yoshizawa.”

“Thank you,” she says and gives him a small bow.

With that taken care of, Joker finally turns fully to Crow.

“Alright, you ready to do this?”

Crows rolls his eyes, but there’s a certain edge to his smile when he says, “Do you even have to ask?”

And it’s as they leave the entranceway behind them and walk back into the palace that it finally occurs to Joker how completely at ease Crow seems to be with jumping right into this. There’s no hesitation in his strides, and Joker can’t help but admire his confidence and bravery. While Joker did consider himself a bit on the impulsive side of things, even he’s finding it hard to keep up.

“Were you really about to just walk out?” Crow asks him without preamble when they’re hardly more than a few steps outside the entryway. Joker’s steps falter, not having anticipated that he’d bring this up again.

“Well, we don’t know whose palace this is so we really can’t do anything-”

“ _Excuse me_?” Crow bristles, spinning around to pin Joker with such a virulent disbelieving look that has him shrinking a bit under the intensity. “Are you really this much of an idiot?! You’re going to tell the others and then just do nothing at all about this?”

“I actually...wasn’t planning on telling them,” Joker tells him a bit sheepishly, fiddling with the material of his glove.

Crow takes a deep breath and moves his mask aside for the express purpose of harshly pinching the bridge of his nose. There’s no bruising over that part of his face, and yet Joker has the sudden urge to pull his hand away from his face so he’d...stop doing that.

“Don’t do that,” Joker says without thinking. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“ _You’re_ hurting me, _Joker_ ,” Crow says, turning on his heel and walking away.

“That’s fair.”

They continue to move throughout the entryway of the palace, looking for any sign of vents or doors that they had possibly missed. Nothing turns up and so they keep moving forward, occasionally looking at a poster or pile of papers that might give them some insight on who the ruler of the palace was. There’s a strange theme that Joker takes as being religiously based in some of the text that he reads- passages about hope and believing in a better world. Yet, neither he or Crow can glean anything concrete from it.

“Would you really not have told even me about this if I wasn’t here with you?” Crow asks him at one point as he flips through a stack of papers he’d found, most of them strangely blank.

Joker shrugs. “It’s not hurting anyone.”

Crow visibly freezes. “Not hurting…” he repeats before looking up from his papers to shoot him a withering glare. “It’s a **_palace_**!”

“We wouldn’t have even known about it if we didn’t accidentally stumble inside,” Joker defends himself, knowing how stupid it sounds the moment the words leave his mouth. “Maybe the owner isn’t that bad…”

Crow gives him a very unimpressed look.

“Is your skull completely empty or do you work hard to be this stupid?”

“Is there a third option?” Joker tries, giving him a winning smile that he’s sure would be able to charm the pants off of anyone. He’s positive. Really.

Crow rolls his eyes, proving himself to be sadly immune to Joker’s charms. A truly worthy rival. Placing the papers down, Crow continues to move deeper into the palace and Joker follows right on his heels.

“I also feel I should point out that whatever it was we just witnessed was not a normal persona awakening,” Crow mentions, causing Joker to think back to the very odd circumstances as well as the strangeness of Kasumi’s transformation that they’d both seen.

He nods slowly in agreement. “It did seem...kinda unusual.”

“It’s at the very least something to keep in mind,” he says and then pauses as if thinking of a way to word something. “Well,” he says finally, “If you do continue to...spend time with her.”

There’s a certain lilt in the way that he says it that makes Joker think that he’s insinuating that he and Kasumi are more than they are. Which is entirely not true. Could not be any more untrue.

Joker silently curses his brain for developing feelings for the person who might just be the most stupidly dense person on the entire planet.

“What? No, no, no, we’re _friends_.”

Crow only hums in response, but before Joker can say something either really brave or really stupid, Crow’s attention gets snagged and Joker follows his gaze to see a very heavy-looking metal door.

When they approach it they find that there’s a control panel on the side, and yet, when Crow touches it, it only flashes red and doesn’t even allow for anything to be inputted.

“A full stop, they won’t let us past,” Crow says, staring at the door with open annoyance. “Of course they’d have this entire place on lockdown.” Turning to face Joker he crosses his arms and adds, “It looks as if we can’t go any farther until we know more about the ruler. That’s rather unfortunate. This place is much more guarded than I expected.”

“I mean the stadium is still being built right?” Thinking back to the blank papers they’d sorted through and the nonsensical layout, Joker suggests, “Is it possible that the palace itself isn’t completed?”

Crow frowns, but seems to consider it. “That’s usually not how these things tend to work, but I suppose stranger things have happened. Especially with everything we encountered today.”

“So...I guess we should head back?”

Crow nods and turns away from the door. “Let’s just keep this place in mind for later.”

With a nod of agreement, Joker walks next to Crow as the two of them begin their small journey back the way that they came. There’s no way to really tell the scale of a palace without a map, but Joker has a very strong feeling that they never even made it past the entryway considering they hadn’t encountered any shadows in their short exploration. Strangely enough, whatever had made that terrifying sound earlier which caused them all to flee, was nowhere to be found.

As they walk, Joker finds his gaze sliding over to Crow, noting that he was being unusually quiet.

“Is it the palace that’s bothering you?” Joker asks him softly.

“Yes, but not just that,” he tells him, expression contemplative. “I’m wondering why Sumire is calling herself Kasumi.”

Joker blinks at him,

“Who?”

“Sumire,” Crow says, his tone completely serious. “The girl we were just with. Her sister’s name was Kasumi and she died a few months ago.”

Joker takes a moment to let that sink in. He assumes it’s probably some weird elaborate grief processing thing that she’s going through, and so it really wasn’t really his place to judge. Her parents _had_ to be aware of this and were likely working on getting her the help that she needed. What she decided to call herself didn’t really change anything.

Still...another thought enters his mind and a grin pulls at his lips.

“...What if she’s a ghost.”

Crow gives him a flat look and promptly increases his pace as he quickly strides away.

“Crow, wait!” Joker calls after him with a laugh, running to catch up.

“Anyway,” Crow says, once Joker is back beside him again. “It really isn’t any of my business what she decides to call herself.”

Joker nods in agreement.

It was probably for the best that they didn’t stick their noses into her personal business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was 10.7k that I wrote in two days and I might be dying.  
> big thanks to my friend julia (@x_tobefree_x) who read this through for me after I finished at 2 in the morning (': 
> 
> Soon we're really going to really be getting deep into the Okumura arc...among other things :3


	18. GORO IX: Contradiction, Contradiction

Goro had only ever been to Okumura’s Palace once before. 

It had been almost two years ago, not long on the heels of Wakaba’s death. Back then, Okumura’s Palace had been smaller, less defined - a humble satellite where there was no gravity and a small viewport aimed towards Earth. Okumura’s Shadow, dressed like an astronaut, had eagerly spoken to Goro about the serenity of space, how much perspective it gave you to see how small humanity’s home was - insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but also miraculous. Beautiful. Something to cherish. To  _ covet. _

There was none of that now. Thanks to Shido’s poison feeding Okumura’s vices, the humble satellite had morphed into a grotesque space station completely divorced from reality. Robots trundled through the hallways spouting Okumura Foods advertisements, everything glittered with an artificial sheen so bright it hurt the eyes, there were no longer any viewports aimed towards Earth - it held none of that small wonder from before. It was cold, fake -  _ lifeless. _

It also had a biometric fucking lock.

“I’m going to shove his spleen down his throat,” Goro said with a tranquil sort of fury as he studied the scorched and dented door that refused to yield to him. Loki’s blade had only scoured through the surface inches - the door was several feet thick of cognitive steel - and it repelled any and all magic Goro had launched at it in a red-hazed desperation. The door held, and Goro was… 

He didn’t understand. 

Cognitive barriers were difficult to penetrate, but they weren’t  _ impossible. _ Loki excelled in slicing through a person’s psyche like a hot knife through butter - the Persona was  _ made _ for mental disintegration, after all. So long as Goro was filled with the metallic-tasting urge for bloodlust, Loki should shred through, devour, chew up and  _ spit out _ any cognitive barrier that dared to stand in their way. Of course, it caused permanent mental damage in the victims, but who cared about that, huh? They were going to be either dead or comatose not long after Goro was finished with them. 

So why now? Why…

Goro stared up at the screen above the door.  _ ‘ACCESS DENIED’ _ it said. 

A biometric lock. 

_ Why…!? _

“God…  _ damn it!” _ Goro screamed, slamming his fist against dented metal. Pain flared through his bruised knuckles, but he didn’t feel it, “Why the  _ hell _ are you  _ doing this to me!?” _

The door didn’t answer. Goro let out a strangled noise of raw frustration. 

He had a week. A week until the Phantom Thieves stuck their noses in here and began their mission to change Okumura’s heart. He didn’t doubt their ability to find a way past this lock - they had Futaba for fuck’s sake, biometric lock or not he doubted any kind of security could keep  _ her _ out - and the moment they began their infiltration in earnest, things would get very complicated, very quickly if Okumura was not  _ dead _ by then. 

But if he was dead before they even set foot in here… 

Goro shoved himself away from the door, pacing a very tight, agitated circle in front of it. Loki couldn’t break through, the door was a  _ biometric lock _ \- he couldn’t get in by himself. Even if the Phantom Thieves weren’t targeting Okumura, he might not be able to… succeed…

_ did shido set me up to fail? _ He thought for one insane moment, before remembering that Shido would’ve had no idea about the state of Okumura’s Palace. No, for once, this wasn’t Shido fucking it him over with an impossible task. This was just… 

_ a failure of mine, _ he settled on, clenching his fists so tight his fingers ached,  _ i’m  _ **_too weak_ ** _ to break through. i’m too… too weak... _

Why? What had changed?  _ What? _ He should be able to eat scumbags like Okumura for  _ breakfast. _ This cognitive barrier is  _ nothing -  _ **_NOTHING_ ** \- to him! He is powerful, the strongest Persona-user with the superior Persona! He hated Okumura -  _ despised him from the very bottom of his heart - _ he wanted to kill him,  _ he wanted to! _ He does! He  _ wanted _ to kill him, so this fucking  _ barrier _ should  _ yield  _ to him…!

Goro clawed for that venom, that toxic bile that made his chest burn and his vision tinged with red. He turned back to the biometric door, all but panting as he howled a deranged;  _ “LOKI!” _ Tearing off his mask with such savagery his claws caught the bridge of his nose, scouring shallow lines across it- 

Loki appeared in a burst of choking black flames, red-fanged grin leering. It towered over him, loomed, like a physical pressure, too much gravity - Goro felt it like a fist in his chest, spindly fingers clenched tight over his pounding heart, every throb straining against the crushing grip. He tasted metal in his mouth. Loki, as always, hurt, pushing its way out of his soul like a parasitic wasp shedding its host’s shell. 

It was a good pain. A familiar pain. Comfortable. 

_ “Destroy it!” _ Goro ordered, and Loki let out a rasping noise - a laugh, a cry, a scream all blurred into an alien warble - before lunging forwards with its crimson blade, swinging it full force against the biometric door. 

**_‘SHHHHHCRRRCHHHHK!’_ **

The blade caught the surface, streaking a glowing orange line across the metal - it marred, but it did not  _ penetrate-! _

_ “I SAID  _ **_DESTROY_ ** _ IT!” _ Goro screamed,  _ “DO IT, LOKI!” _

The Persona snarled, lashing out again, wilder, less finesse, its movements reflecting his desperate agitation. Again, the blade skittered over the door, carving a shallow groove but not  _ penetrating.  _ Loki shrieked, and its blade went tumbling from its grasp, the Persona clawing uselessly at the metal like a rabid beast. Still, the door did not yield. 

_ “DESTROY IT!” _ Goro howled, stomping his foot in overwhelming  _ frustration, _ and his Persona turned from the biometric door, screeching back at him, its yellow eyes alight with a maddened fury- his fury, reflected in him, trapped like a beast in a too small cage strangling the life out of him-

-abruptly, Goro hated this thing. This ugly, twisted part of him. It looked  _ wrong _ . Hunched in front of the door, lanky limbs too thin and twisted, like a skinny, petrified tree, its black-white hide contrasting sharply against the chrome sleekness of Okumura’s Palace. It was wrong -  _ doesn’t belong _ \- and it stared at him with alien eyes and a savage grin, warbling, rasping hisses and snarls, like a demon, a monster, a  _ parasite,  _ gnawing and grinding and infecting his heart like a gangrenous wound. Goro looked at it and felt revulsion, felt bile hit the back of his throat and an overwhelming desire to rip this ugly freakish  _ thing _ out of his heart. 

He couldn’t, though. It was him. 

_ (was it?) _

Goro’s head was pounding - a migraine, sinking its claws into his grey matter and  _ yanking.  _ Was Loki really him, considering...

“Stop-” Goro rasped, and shuddered, trying again,  _ “Stop. _ Stop it.”

Stop what? Who was stopping? Loki was gazing at him with too alien, intelligent eyes, crouched by the door with twitching, blood-coloured claws. It was still. Observing him curiously, its earlier rage forgotten. There was an uneasy distance between them - he couldn’t guess Loki’s mood. It didn’t feel like a part of him anymore. 

_ danger,  _ his hindbrain instinct whispered,  **_danger._ **

Goro held his Persona’s gaze, the lack of mask making him feel flayed open, vulnerable. 

Loki…

...stalked towards him. 

“I said  _ stop,” _ Goro snarled, but his voice broke over the last word, and Loki grinned wider, reaching out-

_ “Robin Hood!” _

**_‘Crrrrrnnnnch!’_ ** went Goro’s insides, his vision going  _ sidewaysredwhiteblack _ as Loki howled in fury- then choked off with a wet, gurgling cry, as Robin Hood fought its way free from the prison Loki encased him in. Goro was on his knees, gulping in shuddering breaths that tasted of copper, his heart smashing against his sternum hard enough to bruise. The toxic haze that clouded his thoughts whenever Loki was close to the surface dispersed, leaving him shaking and nauseous. 

The pressure in his chest eased a fraction. 

A large hand clasping his shoulder broke him out of his blank daze, and Goro flinched, looking up to see Robin Hood kneeling before him, its eyes narrowed in scrutinising concern. Its grip was warm and steady - familiar, not alien. 

_ (this is me) _

“M’okay,” he told his Persona, the lie coming easy, “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Robin Hood said nothing. Why would it? It never spoke. A silent hero ‘til the end.

Goro’s pulse crawled back down from the stratosphere, and he stared past Robin Hood’s looming, comforting frame to the door. He wasn’t going to get past this by himself, was he? He was going to have to wait for the Phantom Thieves to breach it before he could commence with Okumura’s assassination. He didn’t dare lean too hard on Loki because… 

His grip was slipping on it, he realised. Day by day, he was losing that poisonous edge to him, that cold, distant callousness that Loki nestled in and encouraged. Without that, the leash that bound Loki to him loosened more and more. He couldn’t… he  _ couldn’t... _

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he confessed to Robin Hood, his voice barely above a trembling, strained whisper, “Robin. I don’t want to…”

His Persona said nothing. 

“...but I have to,” he finished dully, rubbing his chest. It hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt inside of him, like something was tearing him in two with painstaking slowness. Conflicted. He was conflicted, “Don’t I? If I don’t do this, then Shido...”

Robin Hood tilted its head, then made a small sign with its free hand:  _ ‘J’. _

“Joker?” Goro didn’t bother stifling his bitter laugh at that, “How can  _ he  _ help?”

Robin Hood was silent, but Goro could read its gaze just as well;  _ ‘you want him to help you.’ _

Yeah, well, Goro wanted a lot of things. Life taught him he never got them. As  _ nice _ as it would be for Joker to swoop him and  _ help _ him, Goro couldn’t stop himself from grimacing in disdain at the thought. He wasn’t some helpless victim, or a damsel in distress, he was their  _ enemy, _ their- his rival, and… the moment they knew, they’d look at him in disgust or anger. They wouldn’t help him. He didn’t  _ need _ their help, anyway. He’ll be fine on his own. He can’t… rely on anyone. 

_ (god, do i want to, though) _

No, lies, he  _ didn’t. _

_ (i do) _

Angry at himself, Goro shoved Robin Hood’s hand off his shoulder and stood up. For a moment, he gazed at Robin Hood’s stupid face and was overcome with an urge to punch it. To claw at it and- would Loki’s face be underneath? Was Robin Hood as wrong and vile as that thing? Just- something pretty, a nice palatable facade that was about as real as his Detective Prince act? Was that all Goro was, in the end? Some alien monstrosity that skulked in the shadows of people’s heart, devouring them from the inside out, hidden behind the pretty, smiling mask of a human? 

_ demon,  _ Goro couldn’t help but think, _ abomination. shouldn’t even  _ **_exist…_ **

Robin Hood looked at him sadly.

“Stop it,” Goro whispered, unable to stand it, “Stop looking at me like that.”

He was obeyed. Robin Hood vanished in a burst of blue flames, the long-nosed crimson mask settling over Goro’s face. A comforting weight, not suffocating or cold like Loki’s muzzle and collar. He pressed his hands against it, feeling the warmth seep through his gloves, and, bizarrely, felt the urge to cry. 

Stupid. 

He was so fucking  _ stupid. _

* * *

It was just past midnight when he got back to his apartment. It wasn’t silent - even this late at night, the apartment complex was filled with the muted noise of life; the hum of electricity, the traffic outside, the gurgle of pipes. Goro sighed quietly as he flopped onto his sofa, reaching out to snag his personal phone off the coffee table where he left it during his jaunt into Okumura’s Palace. 

He had messages. 

**_DM from Akira Kurusu:_ **

_ Kurusu: hey, you feeling any better today? _

_ Kurusu: we have a week until we go into Okumura’s Palace, so take this time to recover.  _

_ Kurusu: let me know if you need anything.  _

**_DM from Futaba Sakura:_ **

_ Futaba: i found some really good fics of that terrible ship of yours _

_ Futaba: g!pigeon/r!hawk _

_ Futaba: the writing and stuff kinda jives with what i found in your bookmarks so uh enjoy??? _

_ Futaba: i still think b!condor/r!hawk is the superior ship _

**_DM from Ann Takamaki:_ **

_ Ann: you up for another movie night this weekend? _

_ Ann: we can make a small party of it if you want! _

_ Ann: us in your apartment :) _

_ Ann: unless you want to spend it only with akira lol :p _

**_DM from Ryuji Sakamoto:_ **

_ Sakamoto: this will probs sound weird coming from me _

_ Sakamoto: but you know you can talk to us about stuff right _

_ Sakamoto: uh yeah you know _

_ Sakamoto: you probs already talk to akira about it maybe _

_ Sakamoto: but yeah  _

**_DM from Yusuke Kitagawa:_ **

_ Kitagawa: Have you given thought to my proposition? _

_ Kitagawa: When observing you in the Metaverse, I can’t help but find an enthralling energy to your body’s movements that I rarely see in still life models. It reminds me of those documentaries on nocturnal predators. _

_ Kitagawa: To capture it into paper would be- _

Goro stopped reading Kitagawa’s essay, unsure if the artist knew how suggestive his wording sounded, and scrolled back up to Kurusu’s messages. He felt strange, seeing the Phantom Thieves as a whole reach out to him in their own ways. He had noticed they had seemed… agitated, during the meeting earlier today. Yet, none of them asked about his injuries. 

Didn’t they care, he had thought. But then he realised, they  _ did, _ they cared enough  _ not _ to say anything, because they knew that such pointed questioning and scrutiny would cause more harm than good. They cared, and Goro… had no idea what to do with that. 

“They’re my friends,” he said to himself, trying out the words. It sounded right, but instead of warmth he just felt a bone-deep dread. They were his friends… and he was a backstabbing pretender. After toppling Shido, could he endure being accepted into their fold while carrying the secret of his crimes inside of himself? To never breathe a word of his involvement in Wakaba’s death to Futaba? To lie and never admit that he killed and drove insane so many people?

Yes, he could, but… he felt awful admitting it. His heart felt like it was going to implode from sheer guilt and leave a gaping hole in his ribcage. 

“This is your fault,” he accused Kurusu, glaring at his name and clenching his phone so tight the plastic creaked in protest, “You and your- damn- fucking…” 

He tossed the phone down in the space between him and the back of the sofa, pressing his hands against his face. Was this how it felt to have a conscience? Remorse?  _ Regret? _ He hated it- fucking  _ despised _ it. 

“God damn it,” Goro breathed, and knew he was thoroughly and utterly fucked. 

* * *

Still, life trundled on. Goro went to school and he went to work with Sae, anxiously eyeing the date ticking towards the 22nd of September: the day where the Phantom Thieves would step foot into Okumura’s Palace as a group. He still didn’t know what to do. Once they broke through the cognitive barrier, should he try to slip in during a free night and kill Okumura without their knowledge? Of course, they’d know ‘Black Mask’ would be the culprit, and probably wonder… 

He’d need an alibi for that night, because lord knows Morgana might be bold enough to throw out an accusation - and who the hell knew what Kurusu thought at this point. If Morgana was so blunt and open about his suspicions to Goro, then obviously Kurusu must share the same thoughts, right? He just hid them better. 

_ for what purpose? _ Goro wondered as he puzzled over his homework. The words swam before his eyes, struggling to make sense. His migraine was practically stabbing through his temples,  _ what the hell are you planning, kurusu? _

Could he ‘accidentally’ kill Okumura when they confronted his Shadow? Things got so hectic and insane during those battles, anything could happen… of course, Goro would have to be the one to do the killing blow, and they would observe him doing so - unless he made the situation so confusing no one would be able to know  _ who _ killed Okumura, and then they’d all be tied together by a shared murder. 

Goro’s stomach twisted at the thought, and he tossed that idea aside instantly. No. No, he couldn’t do that to them. 

He shoved his homework away, deeming it a lost cause, and rose unsteadily to his feet, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to alleviate the throbbing pressure behind his eyes. He really needed to do something about these headaches. They only got worse after Shido had- given him the task of killing Okumura. While the bruising had faded to ugly splotches of yellow and greens easily hidden by a careful layer of makeup, the sharp pain remained. 

_ i bet he cracked my cheekbone, _ Goro thought dully, meandering to his kitchen and snagging his phone off the sofa along the way,  _ that would be my luck.  _

One bowl of instant noodles later, where he had picked unenthusiastically at it, Goro attempted his homework again. His headache had eased it something more tolerable, his eyes able to focus on the words without everything blurring. Still, his concentration kept veering back to Kurusu - of course, bane of his existence that he was - unsure and worried about the future. 

“This is stupid,” he scolded himself, and abandoned his homework completely to pick up his phone instead. 

_ Me: kurusu, are you free? _

_ Kurusu: yeah, i am. what’s up.  _

_ Me: meet me in kichijoji in an hour _

_ Kurusu: um ok?? _

_ Me: see you then _

If he was going to be unproductive tonight, he might as well drag Kurusu down with him. 

* * *

The sky was painted in the bruised colours of late dusk when he met up with Kurusu at Kichijoji’s train station. The air carried a damp chill to it, and it made Goro hunch his shoulders underneath the flimsy fabric of his hoodie, his hands buried inside the front pouch to keep them warm as they ambled into Kichijoji’s shopping district.

“So,” Kurusu said, his expression perfectly neutral while Morgana glared suspicious daggers at him, “Uh, this invite was sudden.”

If Goro were in Detective Prince mode, he would have deflected the unsubtle question with a laugh, and some trite excuse of finding himself with ample free time and an urge to spend it with him. But Goro was not in Detective Prince mode - he didn’t know  _ what _ mode he was in, his metaphorical hands bereft of any masks to put on. He kept his gaze focused on the street ahead, subconsciously leading them towards one of the few places he enjoyed in this shitty city. 

“I suppose,” Goro said, his tone sounding listless even to him, “You didn’t have to come, if it was inconvenient.” 

“Your invite didn’t really give much room to refuse,” Morgana said scathingly, because of course he read all of Kurusu’s text messages. Snoop. 

“It’s fine, I wanted to come,” Kurusu said quickly, and there was a slight rustle and Morgana grunting. Kurusu had jostled the Monabag in warning, “I was just… surprised?”

“Surprised.”

“Yeah…” Kurusu’s tone slowed considerably, then; “Akechi, are you okay?”

What a question.

Goro avoided it entirely, turning the last corner that spilled into the cramped street where Jazz Jin resided. He hadn’t been here in a while, torn between so many duties as he once, but some clawing tension in his belly eased the moment his gaze fell upon the jazz bar. He hadn’t realised how much he had missed it until he was looking at the fucking place. 

“Akechi?”

“This is Jazz Jin,” Goro said, ignoring Kurusu’s frustrated huff, “It’s a place that’s special to me. You’re the only one I’ve shown it to.”

It was awkwardly delivered, he knew, and they both stopped near the narrow staircase that led down into the bar. Goro felt unusually anxious - he was new to this…  _ reciprocation. _ He had slithered into the Phantom Thieves’ group under false pretences, displaying a facade that held nothing of true value. Now he was trying to mitigate that, show pieces that  _ were _ true, but it was… strangely nerve-wracking. 

Did Kurusu even  _ like _ jazz? Goro had no idea. He abruptly felt foolish, could feel heat rush to his cheeks as he pointedly did  _ not _ look at him. He crammed his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, biting the inside of his cheek before gritting out; “We don’t have to go inside if it’s not your… thing. I just wanted to show you.”

“If it’s special to you, then I want to experience it with you,” Kurusu said with utter seriousness, and Goro honestly thought he would perish on the spot from how  _ corny _ that was. 

“Whatever,” Goro huffed, desperately ignoring how hot his face felt, and stomped down the stairs into Jazz Jin, Kurusu close on his heels. 

It hadn’t changed since the last time he had been here: the same low-lighting, comforting and warm atmosphere, and the soft music that muffled the edges of conversation. Goro unthinkingly went to  _ his _ table, the one he always went to, right in the corner, finding it blessedly empty. 

“Sit here,” Goro ordered, pointing at the seat, “I’ll get us drinks.”

“Uh, I can-”

Goro walked off before Kurusu could finish, needing some distance from him for a few minutes. His emotions felt like a disaster waiting to happen, so he scruffed the irrational things and stomped them flat, breathing in nice and slow as he reached the bar. He felt mostly composed by the time he got there.

“Muhen-san,” he greeted, belatedly realising he wasn’t dressed how he usually was when Muhen, the bar’s owner, did a double take at spotting him. 

“Why, if it isn’t Akechi,” Muhen said, swiftly recovering and giving him an easy smile as he drifted over. He made no comment on Goro’s clothes, how tired he looked, how it had been literal  _ months _ since he was here - though there was a concerned tightness to his smile as he looked him over, easy and quick, “It’s been a while.”

“Work’s been busy,” Goro said, drumming his fingers on the edge of the bar, “I’m sure you’ve seen on the news.”

“Right, right,” Muhen nodded slowly, peering at him with the same look Kurusu did from time to time. He seemed worried. Goro tried not to squirm in place, “Well, I’ll get you your usual, then?”

“Make it double. I’m here with a…” Goro hesitated, before saying honestly, “I’m here with a friend.”

Muhen’s concerned smile warmed considerably at that, “Oh? That’s good.” 

Goro tried to push that exchange out of his mind when he made his way back to the table, two drinks in hand. Kurusu had already made himself at home, Morgana’s head peeking above the table as they spoke quietly yet with obvious tension - though Morgana shut up the moment he saw his approach and wrinkled his nose. 

Hm. Had they been arguing?

“Here,” Goro said, setting the drink in front of Kurusu and sitting down across from him, stirring his own drink and watching the bright colours of it swirl and ripple from the movements of his straw, “It’s sweet, by the way.”

“Hey, what about me?” Morgana groused. 

Goro lifted his gaze, giving the cat a lazy smirk, “Didn’t you know? Sugar’s bad for cats. If you consume too much of it, you’ll get diabetes and  _ die.” _

_ “D-Die?!” _

“Akechi,” Kurusu sighed, sounding fondly irritated, “You won’t die, Mona.” 

“What do you feed him, anyway?” Goro asked curiously, “Regularly, I mean.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” Morgana snapped, “And I eat Boss’s curry,  _ obviously, _ and sushi when Joker can afford it. Oh, and sometimes Futaba gives me chicken nuggets, and Ryuji lets me try those weird protein bars-”

Goro levelled an unimpressed look Kurusu’s way.

“Are you trying to kill him?” he asked flatly. 

Kurusu shrugged his shoulders sheepishly, stirring his drink as he evaded Goro’s stern gaze, “He seems fine…”

“Cholesterol is a silent killer,” Goro said ominously. 

_ “You’re _ a silent killer,” Morgana said snippily, a nonsensical statement that had Goro slanting a suspicious glare his way, “Stop talking about me  _ dying. _ I’m not dying. I’m staying right here, with Joker.”  _ Keeping an eye on you, _ went unsaid but blazed brightly in Morgana’s eyes. 

“I bet you’ll have a heart attack by the end of the year,” Goro said, just to be a bitch. 

“You little-!”

“Akechi,” Kurusu said tiredly, “Can you stop picking fights with my cat?”

“I’m not a cat!”

“Sure,” Goro said easily, “He’s so thin-skinned that it takes the fun out of teasing him, anyway.”

Morgana looked like he was contemplating leaping across the table and sinking his claws into his face. Goro smiled at him, pure and innocent, and fluttered his eyelashes at him mockingly. 

“You’re awful and I hate you,” Morgana hissed. 

“I hate you too, you flea-bitten runt,” Goro said pleasantly. 

Morgana let out a warcry and moved to lunge - only to be swiftly scruffed by a frantic Kurusu at the last minute. He almost upset his drink in the process, and Goro leaned back in his seat, barking out an ugly, mean little laugh as Morgana hissed and squirmed in Kurusu’s hold. 

“Oh, you make it  _ too easy,” _ he chuckled, leaning forwards on his forearms to smirk at the cat, “You can dish it out, but you can’t take it, hm?”

“You can kiss my-!”

“Guys,” Kurusu said,  _ sharply, _ all Joker, “Knock it off.”

Morgana growled but settled down, and Goro met Kurusu’s gaze with an expression so innocent butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He blinked once, twice, his face all but saying  _ ‘who, me?’ _

“Don’t give me that look,” Kurusu scolded, but his tone had softened, “You’re a right bastard, you know that?”

Goro gave him a crooked smile, “Oh, I know.” 

Satisfied that Morgana no longer thirsted for blood, Kurusu deposited the still grumbling cat back in his seat. A companionable silence fell on them, filled with the low, crooning melody of the bar’s music. Goro soaked it up, this rare bit of peace, listlessly stirring his drink with his straw and wondering why it always ended up like this with Kurusu. 

When he first met him, he thought their meetings would be taut with tension, a battle of wills and manipulation, trying to ferret out each other’s secrets. Instead they lulled into something comfortable and calm, Kurusu always there with an extended hand or warm eyes. He must suspect him, but it didn’t seem to stop him from  _ helping _ him. He made him fucking  _ bentos _ for fuck’s sake, cooked him evening meals and kept his secrets from the others regarding… that night. 

Was Kurusu playing the long game? Lulling Goro into a false sense of security, trying to subvert him? In which case, bravo, Kurusu, you’ve fucking  _ won. _ Goro was well and truly ensnared in his orbit with no hope of escape. 

Thinking like that made him feel queasy, though. If Kurusu’s side of things - no, if the Phantom Thieves’ side of things was all just an act… 

_ that’s your paranoia speaking, _ he told himself,  _ ann can’t act her way out of a paper bag, remember? in fact, none of them can, except kurusu...  _

Goro’s gaze flicked over to him. 

Kurusu was watching him back, his eyes sharp and assessing. 

“Something wrong?” Kurusu asked, like a fucking mindreader. 

“...no,” Goro said slowly, still stirring his drink, “I was just wondering…”

He trailed off, trying to think on how to phrase his question. Kurusu patiently waited him out, sipping on his drink. Morgana was no longer in sight. Goro presumed he was curled up on the chair dozing or sulking. 

_ why do you like me when i’m so awful? what do you want from me? are we even friends? can i even trust you? _ _**should** i trust you? _Goro wanted to ask. 

“I’m wondering where my souvenir from Hawaii is,” he said instead.

Kurusu blinked owlishly at him, looking blindsided. 

“Um,” Kurusu started, then jolted upright,  _ “Shit, _ your souvenir.”

“Yes, the one you promised me before you left,” Goro reminded him mildly.

Kurusu squirmed a little in his seat, looking a little sheepish, “I  _ did  _ get you one, but I forgot with- everything. You know.”

Goro’s messed up face, right. He gave Kurusu a heavy-lidded look, slowly turning his straw between his fingers, “And continued to forget about it, I see.”

Kurusu seemed to wilt slightly, “Sorry…”

“It’s fine,” Goro mock-sighed, “I see where I am in your list of priorities. Rock bottom…”

“T-That’s not it…!”

Kurusu was so easy to wind up tonight. Goro didn’t bother hiding his amused smirk, and laughed when Kurusu caught on and scowled at him. He was cute when he pouted, which was such a strange thing to notice.  _ Joker _ was never cute: he was seductive and provocative, his lean body swift and domineering - to put that with  _ cute, _ like he was now, was intriguing. 

“It seems Morgana isn’t the only thin-skinned one here,” Goro teased, and grunted when Kurusu ‘playfully’ kicked his shin. 

“Come to Leblanc this week,” Kurusu said after a brief tussle under the table that left both their shins smarting, “I’ll give it to you then.”

“Oh, so _ I _ need to come to  _ you  _ for my own gift?”

“Yes, asshole,” Kurusu was smiling, taking any bite out of the insult, “You’re like a spoiled pampered cat, you know? I need to make you work for it sometimes.” 

Goro couldn’t dispute that. Kurusu certainly  _ spoiled _ and  _ pampered _ him with those highly personalised bentos he gifted him almost every day. He hummed instead, finally lifting his drink to take a sip through the straw. Kurusu watched him very intently. 

“Fine,” he said, guessing Kurusu wanted a response to his Leblanc invitation, “I’ll go to Leblanc sometime this week.”

Kurusu visibly brightened, “Great.”

So easy to please. Goro felt himself smile. 

Only to grimace when his headache twinged behind his eyes, the migraine from before threatening to make a violent return. He sighed, lowering his gaze and sipping his drink as Kurusu took that as an invitation to discuss the Hawaii trip - since they never had an opportunity to before. Goro let the sound of his voice wash over him, finding it strangely peaceful. 

He had a nice voice. Calming. 

_ i wish i could keep this, _ Goro thought with a heaviness that went beyond mere sadness,  _ i want to keep this.  _

But Goro wanted a lot of things - and life never gave them to him. 

* * *

The day of Okumura’s Palace infiltration arrived a few days after that, and as expected the Phantom Thieves’ foray into it was stalled by the damned biometric lock. Nothing Futaba did could breach it - it genuinely required the biometric data of an Okumura.  _ An _ Okumura, not  _ the _ Okumura. 

“The best subject would be Shadow Okumura himself,” Futaba mused as they backtracked to the Palace’s entrance, “But anyone who’s related to him could work. Though, I’m not too jazzed about, uh, kidnapping someone to open a door.”

“But that scumbag ain’t gonna show himself out here,” Sakamoto pointed out reasonably, “Could we, uh, drag Okumura in here?”

“How’re we gonna get our hands on the CEO of Okumura Foods and not get caught?” Ann asked waspishly.

“There has to be a solution to this,” Morgana mused, “Some other way to breach the cognitive barrier…?”

“Sakamoto had the right idea of it,” Goro said, smiling when equally stunned looks were thrown his way, “What? I’m not proposing we kidnap  _ Okumura, _ as fun as that would be. No, there’s someone else we could, ah, use.”

“Someone else…?” Ann repeated. 

“He has a daughter,” Goro informed them, too impatient to let them figure it out for themselves. He’s been waiting over a  _ week _ for that blasted door to open, “Okumura Haru. She goes to your school, I believe. Weren’t you aware?” 

“Whaaaa…?” Sakamoto looked poleaxed, “We had someone  _ that _ important at our school?!”

“Oh!” Ann clapped her hands together, “Haru! I remember now! She’s the one who looks after those plants on the school roof!”

“So, we lure Okumura’s daughter to this Palace, and use her to open the way?” Kitagawa summed up, sounding uncertain, “It sounds a little…”

“It’s not as if we’re  _ kidnapping _ her,” Goro pointed out reasonably, “We’ll… borrow her, for a moment. Once the door is open, we’ll let her go.”

“Does she even need to be awake for it?” Futaba asked, and bristled when some of the Phantom Thieves gave her alarmed looks, “What? You wanna explain the Metaverse to some heiress? We could just knock her out and, uh, borrow her body… no talking required...”

“I can’t believe we’re discussing a kidnapping,” Ann groaned.

“Joker?” Sakamoto asked Kurusu. 

“...we need an Okumura to pass the barrier,” Kurusu said after a pregnant pause, a small frown tugging at his mouth, “From the sounds of it, Haru’s our best bet. We’ll speak to her and try to convince her to come here of her free will. I’m not, uh, comfortable kidnapping someone. For both moral and legal reasons.”

It would be a bad look if any of them were caught, true, which was why Goro never bothered to try it himself. 

“Yeah, I’m not comfortable forcing Haru in here like that,” Ann agreed, and quiet murmurs of agreement rippled through the group, “I mean, we’ll probably have to trick her to come in  _ here, _ but, I’d rather she’d be, um, awake and not… drugged for that.”

“Then it’s settled,” Goro said, “Those of you from Shujin will convince Haru, either through honesty or trickery, to come to the Palace. Once she gets us past the biometric locks, I’m sure Oracle will be able to manipulate the Palace’s security from the inside to keep it open.”

“Just leave it to me,” Futaba mock-saluted. 

“Say, Crow,” Morgana began suspiciously, “How’d you know about Okumura’s daughter anyway?”

“I’m surprised none of you didn’t,” Goro drawled, genuinely surprised about this, “Don’t you research your targets? There are several news articles about Okumura Haru being his only daughter. In fact, I believe she’s getting married soon as well.”

_ “Married?” _ Ann blurted, “But, she’s still in school!”

“It’s arranged,” Goro said, and paused, because he didn’t know if that was common knowledge. Was it? He remembered Shido being sour about the whole thing over several months ago, since the union between Haru and whatever chess piece she was to be wed to would grant Okumura more political capital - capital Shido didn’t have control over. 

Hmm, maybe that wasn’t common knowledge.

“It is a rumour, though,” he amended, letting a bit of sheepishness trickle into his tone, “I know more than anyone how fickle online gossip could be, so I’m unsure of its… legitimacy.” 

“That’s awful if it’s true though,” Ann murmured, “Arranged marriage when still in school? It’s the modern age, geeze.” 

“That’s rich people for ya,” Sakamoto said dismissively.

They left Okumura’s Palace not long after that, all of them parting ways after Kurusu promised to contact them with the date for the next infiltration soon. There was no point returning until they had Haru here, after all. 

It felt like a wasted day, in all honesty. Goro’s mood was irritable as he biked back to his apartment, once again stuck waiting around. It was almost the end of September - he had  _ three weeks _ left to meet Shido’s deadline, all without the Phantom Thieves knowing about it. He couldn’t afford to hang around and  _ wait. _

The dark mood dogged his steps all the way home. He stashed his bike in the apartment complex’s bike shed and sulked up the stairs to his apartment, a low, throbbing headache building and building behind his eyes. It had triggered the moment they had entered Okumura’s Palace, this damnable  _ migraine, _ and Robin Hood’s summonings had been - painful. 

Every time he had called upon Robin Hood, it felt like someone had fisted his heartstrings and ruthlessly  _ pulled.  _ More and more, until the pressure got to the point where he thought his heart was going to rip itself out of his chest and his skull split open. He had fought through the pain, of course, but he was certain his lacklustre performance had been noticed by everyone - and both Kurusu and Futaba kept giving him  _ looks _ when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Goro rubbed at his chest, frowning as he entered his apartment. It was getting to be a problem, his Persona. 

Was it because he was conflicted? He knew Persona-users had to undergo ‘reawakenings’ every few years or so as humans were not static. They changed, either for the worst or better, and their relationship and understanding with themselves shifted as a result. But it was supposed to be  _ painless, _ according to what research Wakaba had compiled from multiple sources. For this to hurt  _ so much... _

_ but loki isn’t a normal persona, _ he reminded himself,  _ wakaba used kirijo’s research for  _ **_that._ **

Goro ran a hand through his hair, standing aimlessly in the middle of his apartment. If he  _ was _ losing control of his Persona due to his own confliction, then he would have to expect Loki’s loss of control to be… unpleasant. 

Fatal. 

_ (“Previous subjects under Kirijo ended up being murdered or possessed by their own Persona,” Wakaba said, for the first time sounding uneasy about what she was doing, “Which goes against all previous evidence of a peaceful dormancy in natural born ones, so why-”) _

He shook his head, dispelling that unwanted memory, and marched to his bedroom to pick up his coursework. Stop fretting. Loki was different to  _ Kirijo’s _ failures. While violent and alien, Loki had never once raised a threatening hand to him or  _ outright _ disobeyed. He had nothing to worry about - actually, he had  _ a lot _ to worry about, but murder via his own berserk Persona was not one of them.

He was fine. Completely and utterly fine. 

His migraine grew fangs. 

* * *

Kurusu sent a message to the PT chat by next evening. It said;  _ ‘Haru’s agreed to meet up with us on Sunday.’ _

Sunday. The 25th.

_ cutting it close, aren’t we? _ A voice muttered waspishly in the back of his mind, but it made sense. Sunday would give them an entire day to push as far as they could into Okumura’s Palace, as well as handle any  _ complications _ Haru’s presence would bring without wasting precious infiltration time. Kurusu must be getting as impatient as him. 

Goro huffed out an irritated noise as he let his phone drop from his hand and clatter loudly on his coffee table. Before him were his class notes - tomorrow he had a test, and while it wasn’t an  _ important one, _ more of a confirmation check for the upcoming exams, he did have a reputation to uphold as a model student. He already took a hit for calling in sick when his face was all messed up, so he couldn’t afford to have less than exemplary marks. He needed to  _ focus. _

But it was difficult. His brain felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, a pressure behind his eyes that made them feel dry and itchy. His notes were slightly blurry around the edges, and the stark contrast between black ink and white paper made him squint, cradling his head in his hand and digging his fingertips into his scalp. 

It was just exhaustion, he knew - which didn’t make much sense, because he had plenty of free time now. Shido hadn’t troubled him with  _ extracurricular jobs, _ no doubt wanting him to focus entirely on Okumura, but the lack of a crushing schedule had his paranoia anxiously digging holes. It left him with too much time to  _ think. _

_ ‘tptptptp’ _

Goro anxiously tapped his pen on his book. 

If he failed to kill Okumura, what would happen? Shido didn’t suffer failure well, always quick to cut off the deadweight, but he had been magnanimous in tolerating  _ Goro’s _ failures. For him, anyway. It was because he still  _ needed him, _ no matter how much he blustered, but Shido’s temper was an ugly thing, and he had grown more impulsive and erratic the closer they drew to the election date. 

_ as his palace grows, _ Goro mused,  _ his pride is blinding him. _

So, what would happen?

If he failed to kill Okumura… would that be one failure too far? Or would Shido snarl and curse and maybe strike him again, but set another task for him to fulfil for his forgiveness? But by then, Goro would be more of a hindrance than a help, wouldn’t he, if he was failing to fulfil his sole purpose of untraceable murders. Would he abandon him? Throw him out to the wolves to feast on? Or take a more… hands on approach… 

“I can’t fail,” Goro whispered, suddenly clammy at the thought, “I can’t.”

But he had to consider the possibility that he might. 

_ give up the phantom thieves, _ a part of him hissed, the cowardly, squirming part of him that he grew more and more repulsed by with each passing day,  _ give them up, shido will lavish praise and favour on you if you give him their names… _

“He’ll kill them,” Goro said, and he paused because- he would, wouldn’t he?

Maybe not in a direct manner, using Goro or his Yakuza ties, but he wanted them framed, didn’t he? Their lives would be destroyed, Kurusu definitely, their criminal records marking them as undesirables for the rest of their lives - if they ever saw freedom. Knowing Shido’s pull within the police and amongst a few of the judiciary, it would be easy for him to have them tried as adults and sent to jail, where they could have a sad, unfortunate  _ accident. _

They’ll die if he gives them up. 

_ why do you care? aren't they just **pawns?** _

They’re **his.**

_ they’re a **curse.** they’ve weakened you.  _

Goro thought of Okumura’s cognitive barrier, unyielding when before he could tear through it like tissue paper. He thought of Loki, hunched like a beast and leering at him with a red-fanged smile and alien eyes, and thought  _ maybe that’s for the best. _

_ you’ll lose everything you worked for. _

And what was that, anyway? Shido’s downfall? Goro dug his fingernails harder into his scalp, screwing his eyes shut as his headache  _ pounded. _ What did he even  _ want _ anymore? Shido needed to pay for his crimes, he wanted that, and he wanted to  _ keep _ the Phantom Thieves - they were  _ his _ -

_ yours until they learn the truth, then they’ll hate you. **despise you.** _

Would they? Really? If he explained...

Goro didn’t know.  _ He didn’t know. _ He dropped his pen and tried to remember how to breathe, that crushing, trapped feeling squeezing his ribcage until he could feel the bones creak. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore, how he would even  _ achieve it. _ Two years, he had trudged this cold, lonely path, knowing the end would mean his own destruction alongside Shido’s, but the path was overgrown and crowded with weeds and trash and he was losing his way, unsure where… where… 

_ (Goro thought back to the night where Loki surfaced from the sea of his soul, the distorted, broken words that cracked inside his skull, like shards of glass being shoved under his skin, the whisper of  _ **_‘it is a father’s nature to be the ultimate obstacle to his child’_ ** _ thrumming like a curse through his heart, and-  _

_ -the memory was too distorted to fully recall) _

“He’s my… obstacle…” Goro repeated Loki’s words, the  _ only words, _ that Persona had ever spoken to him, “My obstacle. That hasn’t changed.”

What has changed is maybe his approach to said obstacle. Perhaps, there’s another way. Perhaps, if he let himself trust the Thieves a little, just a little, still obfuscating the important, damning details, maybe phrasing things to heap all of the blame at Shido’s feet, he could get them to take Shido out of the equation  _ before _ the elections. It wouldn’t be ideal, but if he failed in his task to kill Okumura, then he might have to do it. 

_to eliminate_ _him before he eliminates_ ** _me,_** Goro decided. 

And Change of Hearts were humiliating events. Shido would be utterly  _ ruined _ and  _ devastated, _ forced to confess all his crimes to the public, reduced to a snivelling, pathetic wreck like Madarame. It would… do. It would do. It would have to do.

_ so you’re  _ **_abandoning_ ** _ your revenge? **just like that?** _

No, he’s  _ adjusting _ his expectations-

A sudden rush of dizziness made him sway abruptly. Goro gripped the edge of his coffee table, blinking rapidly against the vertigo that made his stomach drop and his vision tunnel dangerously. It went as quickly as it came, leaving him more confused than anything, but something felt… wrong. Odd. Like something inside of him had clicked too far to the left and was now misaligned somewhere. 

**_‘tppt tppt’_ **

Tapping? Goro looked down at the noise. 

There was red on his notes.

For a brief, puzzled moment, he wondered if his pen had burst an ink cartridge, but no, it was  _ red, _ not black, thick droplets oozing into his workbook and soaking into the paper. It wasn't ink.

**_'tppt'_ **

It was _blood._

Goro's hand flew to his nose, instantly feeling warm stickiness cling to his fingers. When he pulled them away they were smeared with crimson. Blood. He was bleeding. His  _ nose _ was  _ bleeding. _

Behind his eyes, his headache  _ throbbed. _

"Shit," Goro rasped, clumsily getting up from the coffee table, his hand clamped firmly over his nose in a vain attempt to stem the bleeding. His head felt dizzyingly light, kept steady only by the relentless anvil that was his migraine slamming repeatedly against his skull. He barely remembered reaching the bathroom.

Red droplets smeared pink inside his sink's basin, and he grabbed a spare towel and pressed it to his face, dipping his head downwards to stop the blood from trickling back down his throat. Nosebleeds were a pain, but ultimately harmless, he told himself through the eye-watering pain. Strange colours were dotting his vision with each pounding pulse of his headache. 

He was just stressed, it was fine.

Perfectly fine.

Slowly, after a fucking  _ eternity,  _ the bleeding stopped and the headache eased into a tolerable throb. He pulled the towel away, grimacing at the smear of browning red clinging to the pale fibres. He'll have to toss this out.

"What a waste," he grumbled, dropping the towel into the sink and looking up at the mirr-

Loki was standing behind him, leering over his shoulder with a red-fanged grin.

_ "Fuck-!" _

Goro jumped so badly he almost fell into his sink, spinning around before he even finished his yelped curse. Beauty products clattered loudly to the floor from the violent movement, echoing loudly in the- empty bathroom. Empty. Completely empty except for Goro pressed up against the sink, hands raised and looking like a fucking idiot for jumping at  _ nothing. _

There was no Loki. 

He… fuck.

God, he was losing it.

"I'm- I'm imagining things," he told himself, hating how unsteady those words came out. He exhaled roughly and turned around, agitatedly cleaning up the mess he made and washing the blood off his face. 

He didn't look at the mirror again.

Still, there was an uneasy edge to his mood now. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, his pulse fast with lingering adrenaline. Something wasn’t right. The animal part of his brain was tense with fear - an unseen threat was near.

_ don't stay still, don't stay still,  _ the animal instinct said, so Goro didn't.

He abandoned his bathroom clean-up when a shiver of anticipation slithered over his rattled nerves. He returned to the living room to try and salvage what he could of his study session, only to rapidly move to the kitchen when his skin prickled with goosebumps, like he could sense invisible eyes on him. He stayed in his kitchen for less than five minutes before all but bolting to his bedroom, his heart feeling like it was about to smash its way through his ribcage, every muscle tense with battle fever.

Something was  _ wrong. _

He had to get out of this fucking apartment. He just had to get out.  _ It's behind me! _ something insane shrieked in the back of his mind, a something he didn't dare interrogate because he  _ knew  _ what was behind him and to acknowledge it would be-!

Goro all but fled his apartment in a highly restrained retreat. He took only his phone, wallet and keys, his coat tossed over the pyjamas he’d been lounging in and trainers haphazardly yanked on. He averted his gaze from any reflective surface, his hands crammed deep into his coat pocket to hide how they were balled into fists. 

This late at night, no one saw Akechi Goro, Detective Prince, grab his bike from the apartment complex’s bike shed in nothing but his pyjamas, pale-faced and looking hunted. Once he was on the streets, pedalling  _ away,  _ no one so much gave him a second glance. It was a strange sort of isolation, to be ignored even amongst a crowd, and Goro could feel his palms sweat from where they were clenched around his handlebars. 

_ just get away,  _ his instincts said,  _ away, away, AWAY! _

He didn’t know where he was running away  _ to _ until he stopped in front of Leblanc with a squeal of his brakes and the scrape of rubber against cement.

Leblanc. Kurusu. 

Goro sat there on his bike, breathing harshly as he looked up at the dark shopfront. It was shut, because it was late at night - Morgana’s draconian curfew would already have Kurusu asleep. What was he doing? Why did he come here? What the fuck was wrong with him?

He shivered but didn’t move, his hands still clenched white-knuckled over the handlebars. That threatening pressure was still pressing between his shoulder blades, itching like he had crosshairs aimed right at him. The street was dark but not quiet. He could hear a pair of cats fighting in a nearby alleyway, their yowls echoing oddly in the narrow, cramped streets.

He couldn’t cycle all night. 

Stiffly, he dismounted from his bike, propping it up next to Leblanc’s glass door.  _ ‘CLOSED’ _ said the sign. 

His pulse was picking up again. The darkness felt a little more oppressive, and the nearby streetlamp started to flicker, off and on, off and on, buzzing and hissing each time it did and casting strange, alien shadows across Leblanc’s glass front. The cats had stopped fighting. The street was eerily silent. 

Before he could think it through, Goro harshly rapped his knuckles on the door hard enough to rattle it in its frame.

The ensuing wait was  _ agonising. _

The streetlight finally gave up, spluttering out with a muted pop. Goro dug his hands deeper into his pockets, a strange chill creeping over him as he kept his gaze trained beyond his own reflection in Leblanc’s glass door. He didn’t dare focus on it, instead lifting his hand to knock again, feeling so tense he was certain his bones were going to snap under the pressure. 

It was far too quiet. 

_ paranoia, it’s my paranoia, it’s my paranoia, _ Goro told himself, clicking his heels together just to make some sort of noise other than his ragged breathing,  _ it’s a perfectly normal street on a perfectly normal night.  _

Something clattered, muffled, and Goro almost leapt out of his skin before seeing light flash on inside Leblanc. Kurusu! 

After an age where a clearly groggy Kurusu shuffled over to the door, there was a rattle and a scrape of a lock before the door opened a fraction, grey eyes blearily squinting at him as Kurusu muttered; “Who- Akechi?”

“You opened the door without knowing who it was first?” Goro blurted in disbelief, before remembering that he was standing out in a dark, definitely haunted street, “Whatever, doesn’t matter. Let me in.”

“Uh, um-” Kurusu stumbled, but Goro bulldozed his way inside the store before he could protest. It was only once he was inside the muted warmth of the cafe, the scent of curry and coffee heavy in the air, and the door snapping shut behind him, that he felt himself relax. That awful, overbearing threatening presence dissipated, and he felt… safe. 

He discreetly wiped his sweaty hands on his pyjama bottoms, and turned to a visibly confused Kurusu with as much dignity as he could muster. 

“It’s… late?” Kurusu said, still obviously half-asleep. 

“Just before midnight, yes,” Goro agreed, keeping his expression mild. He watched as Kurusu’s gaze sharpened more and more, once he realised that Goro was here in his pyjamas like an absolute weirdo. 

“Not… that I’m complaining exactly,” Kurusu said carefully, his stare very scrutinising, “but, why’re you here in your pyjamas?”

There was no good answer to that, so Goro didn’t reply. He just gave him a heavy-lidded, silent stare that clearly stated no answers were forthcoming. 

Kurusu heaved a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck, “Right. Okay. Uh, you want… coffee? It’s late, but… I mean, unless you want curry instead?”

Last thing Goro needed was caffeine to add to the adrenaline mix that was his blood right now, “No, I’m fine.” 

“Sure,” Kurusu said, his tone heavy with doubt, “Then…?”

“Don’t let me disturb your sleep,” Goro said, “I’m fine sitting down here.”

“By yourself?” Kurusu asked in disbelief, “You might as well, um, stay over.”

“Sleep on your terrible sofa?” Goro scoffed, and gestured to the booth, “I’d get a better rest on one of these.”

Kurusu grimaced, because there was no defending the monstrosity that was his lumpy, ancient sofa, “I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa. You can have the bed.” 

“I’m not taking your bed.”

“Then what do you  _ want, _ Akechi?” Kurusu snapped exhaustedly, then winced, “Sorry, I mean…”

Goro looked away, chewing the inside of his cheek. In all honesty, Kurusu had the patience of a saint not to toss him out on his ear right now, for barging into his home and being a mysterious bastard. His insides squirmed, and he scuffed the bottom of his trainers against the floor before muttering; “I’ll take the sofa.” 

Kurusu gave him a look, but thankfully just said; “Okay, well, um, come on up, then.” 

The silence between them was almost awkward as they went up the stairs. It was obvious Kurusu had just gotten out of bed, as Morgana was still curled up next to his pillow and Kurusu’s duvet was messily thrown back. The window was slightly open, and Goro fought against the twitch of paranoia that had him itching to throw it shut, just in case- well, just in case. 

“I have spare toiletries. I kinda stocked up after Yusuke crashed here that one time,” Kurusu said around a yawn, rummaging around in a bag next to his shelves before procuring a toothbrush still in its packaging, “Ah hah. Here you go - I think I have face wipes too, maybe?”

Normally, Goro would be aghast at how little effort Kurusu put into having perfect skin, but he felt too wrung out like a too-twisted rag to even care right now. He took the packaged toothbrush and said, “It’s fine.” 

He went downstairs to prep for bed, half-tempted to run back to his apartment and pretend this insane visit never happened. But when he lingered by the toilet, staring at Leblanc’s door, he couldn’t muster the courage. Something held him back, sweat prickling his forehead at the idea of returning to his apartment alone. He went into the toilet instead. 

There was no Loki in here - he was ashamed to admit he cautiously peeked inside first just to make sure - and quickly did his business. Once he was freshened up, he walked back upstairs, where he could hear Kurusu and Morgana arguing. 

“Don’t you think it’s  _ totally weird _ he just turned up here without warning? It’s midnight! He might be up to something!” 

“Of course it’s weird, but I’m not going to- oh, you’re back.”

Morgana scowled at Goro from the bed, his posture defensive, but he didn’t say anything. Goro pretended he hadn’t caught them arguing and said, “Thank you for having me.” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s okay,” Kurusu said, clearly unsure on how to approach this situation but perfectly willing to roll with it, “You sure you don’t want the bed?”

“I’m fine.” 

The atmosphere was still awkward as they got settled. The light was off, Goro was on the shitty, ancient sofa that was going to give him back pain come morning, and he realised he had… nothing on him, right now. He’ll have to cycle back to his apartment early in the morning to get changed into his school uniform - cycle back, in his pyjamas… 

_ no one will notice, _ he thought listlessly. 

He shifted, rolling onto his side - facing away from Kurusu. 

Leblanc wasn’t silent. It gurgled and groaned, an old building with cranky insides. The thin curtain Kurusu had fluttered in the light breeze that seeped in through the open window, and the streetlight outside spilled across the ceiling in a long, unbroken line. Goro closed his eyes and tried to pretend everything was fine.

He failed, and sleep didn’t come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka the chapter that features a) heavy foreshadowing and b) the beginnings of a genre shift :)
> 
> Please find an amazing animation Maha did of when Goro went to Leblanc (really puts the horror in the psychological horror tag hehehe): [link here!](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1361031924005953545?s=20)


	19. AKIRA X: The Bangle

In the middle of the afternoon, while sitting at his uncomfortable desk and eating his roll of bread, Akira promptly concludes that having feelings for someone was absolutely awful and he wanted to get off this train fast.

This of course was a conclusion that he came to after a great amount of self-reflection and contemplation, all of which directly followed him having awoken this morning only to find that Akechi had been completely gone from his room. There was no sign of him whatsoever, not a note, not a text- in fact Akira would have wondered if he’d dreamt the entire late-night visit up if it wasn’t for Mona saying something about how it was _‘suspicious’_ or whatever. The very adult mature part of Akira’s brain told him that Akechi had left so suddenly because it was Saturday, and he would have had to cycle all the way back to his apartment in order to get ready for school this morning.

And yet his hopeless pining brain was making him think that Akira had fucked up somehow. It was baseless, a completely illogical thought that had decided to lodge itself into his head, where it then traveled down to his chest and attempted to crawl up his throat and strangle him. No matter what he did, he can’t seem to stop that little voice inside of his head that whispers, _he came to see you and you didn’t help him._

Or more specifically, Akechi had presented him with a chance, and Akira had completely blown it.

Last night Akira had been so tired, practically delirious when he’d found Akechi standing at his front door in his pajamas without giving him any reason as to why he’d shown up, and currently Akira was a little too terrified to text Akechi and ask him for answers himself. But what if Akechi had come over with the sole intent of... _sharing a bed._ Sure, it was a bit of a long shot but stranger things had happened. It was no secret that Akechi’s brain was somewhat of an enigma, so would it really be so strange to think that his method of trying to enter a romantic relationship was showing up at Akira’s door late at night and practically forcing an impromptu sleepover? It... _probably_ wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

Akira pictures the night going a little bit differently. He imagines Akechi sliding into his small bed right beside him where Akira could put his arms around him under the guise of there being no other place to put them. And Akechi would get flustered, but wouldn’t shake him off, and Akira would know that he was absolutely safe for the night. Maybe if their faces were close enough together on the pillow, then Akechi would lean in ever so slightly and Akira would meet him halfway. When they parted, Akechi would give him a small pleading look and Akira would gently stroke his cheek and say: _I’ll take good care of you-_

 _Not now,_ Akira, he reprimands himself, considering that he was still in the classroom and he really needed to stop having fantasies about Akechi while he was sitting here.

Akira doesn’t know what the hell was wrong with him, but his head seems to be malfunctioning even more than normal. Whenever he went any length of time without seeing Akechi it hurt- a deep aching feeling that distracted him from doing anything else. When they weren’t talking Akira was thinking about him, and the moments when he wasn’t were becoming far and few between.

The thing was, even if Akechi never returned his feelings, it might hurt but Akira thinks that he’d be okay. Just as long as Akechi was in his life in some capacity. The thought of losing him was a terrifying prospect, and if confessing how he felt could ruin what they had now, then Akira would push down his feelings and never say anything at all.

Sighing to himself, Akira puts down his half-eaten roll and doodles another line on his notebook paper.

As if summoned by the sound of his hopeless pining, Ann turns around in her seat, takes one glance down at his notebook, and gives Akira a very tired look.

“Alright,” she says like a girl with all the patience in the world. “What is it this time?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Akira responds, like a liar.

Ann looks as if she believes him about as much as she should. Rather unfortunately it was starting to look as if his friends, Ann in particular, were no longer buying his bullshit and so one of these days he was going to have to try to up his game. Maybe he’d practice lying in the mirror, or maybe he should start tuning into politics- he could really feel his natural charm increase every time he spent time with Yoshida, so it could work.

“Let me guess,” Ann says, oblivious to the turn of his thoughts, “it’s about Goro again.”

“Why does everyone always assume that?!” Akira laments, careful to keep his voice down so he doesn’t attract any attention. The last thing he wanted to do was draw unwanted attention on himself, he already got enough of that on a normal basis.

Akira pointedly ignores the little, “Because it is!” that comes from inside his desk. Now was no time to be listening to the infamous feline betrayer housed within.

“Akira,” Ann says with a fair amount of exasperation, “you have his name written all over your notebook.”

Akira glances down at the notebook in front of him where he’d written both Kurusu Goro and Akechi Akira multiple times since he couldn’t decide which one he liked better. Kurusu Goro had a bit more of a ring to it, in his personal opinion, but it felt wrong to get rid of the Akechi name entirely since Akira had grown a little too fond of it. Then again, he did have to admit that he liked the way that _Kurusu_ rolled off Akechi’s tongue, even if he did still kind of wish he would call him by his first name at least once-

“Earth to Akira,” Ann says, successfully snapping him from his thoughts.

Akira stares at her, realizing that he’d definitely screwed up and ended up proving her point.

“This means nothing. It’d never hold up in court.”

“Mmhmm,” she hums, leaning back in her seat and looking smug. “And who’s been teaching you that? _Goro Kurusu?”_

Akira slams his notebook shut.

“Is he drawing Akechi’s name with hearts all over his notebook again?” Morgana the Great Betrayer pipes up from inside his desk.

He watches his ex-friend Ann raise a brow at him and wonders if she realizes that she’d just been demoted on his friends list. Maybe he’d start spending more time with Yusuke. Sure he was a bit eccentric, but anything had to be better than the merciless treatment he was currently dealing with.

Not willing to answer either of them, Akira quickly fumbles for a change of subject.

“Akechi showed up at Leblanc last night,” he comes out with after a moment like a simple-minded moron. The moment the words leave his mouth he sends a wordless prayer to anyone who might be listening high above to please send someone down to smother him. Clearly he couldn’t trust his own head anymore, this was beyond embarrassing at this point.

“Oh really?” Ann asks, her brow managing to arch higher on her face yet again. Soon it’d enter her hairline and vanish altogether, and then Akira would have no indication as to the amount of surprise or mild disapproval she was feeling.

“Yeah he was still in his pajamas,” he answers her anyway, truthfully a little glad to finally be able to talk this out with someone. He pauses, then adds, “It was kind of weird actually-”

“More like suspicious- _ow!_ ” Morgana the Jealous says as Akira yanks... _gently_ on his tail. “Watch it!”

“He came over just to sleep and then left first thing this morning,” Akira explains, ignoring the tiny claws latching onto his hand.

“And you slept...in the same bed?”

“No, Akechi took the sofa.” Ann looks at him in clear disappointment. “I offered him the bed,” he quickly adds in his defense, “but he didn’t want to take it! He initially wanted to sleep in the booths actually.”

At that her disapproval morphs into confusion, her brow furrowing as she slowly says; “...Okay then.” Ann pauses and then adds, “And why exactly did he show up?”

“I don’t know, he was gone when I woke up.” He tacts on a shrug at the end as if this isn’t a big deal at all. Almost as if he hasn’t been completely torn up about this very question since the moment he opened his eyes this morning.

“Let me guess,” Ann says, giving him a pointed look. “You’re too nervous to ask him?”

And Akira wants to deny it. Wants to lift his head like a proper functioning individual and tell her that _no_ he was not _nervous_ about bringing up the subject with Akechi.

Of course, he’d also established once today that his lying abilities needed a bit more work, and so he only frowns and says; “It’s too soon.”

Ann sighs. “Akira, you need to talk to him. About last night, and also about this,” she says, gesturing to the notebook.

“I will….eventually.” And by that, he meant _never_.

Seeming to sense his thoughts, Ann’s expression softens.

“Did you want me to talk to him for you?”

“No, no, I’ll tell him,” Akira tells her quickly, knowing this was something he should do himself. He needed to be brave, that’s all it came down to. “Just...let’s get Haru into Okumura’s palace first. One thing at a time?” He gives her a hopeful smile, and earns an unimpressed look in response.

“As soon as we get her into the palace, Akira,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re going to tell him you have feelings for him, or I will.”

It’s a terrifying ultimatum, but Akira knows that he’s already exhausted all his defenses, and so with a nervous fluttering in his gut, he agrees to her deal.

***

As it turns out, getting Haru into the palace ends up being a lot easier than Akira had previously anticipated.

They didn’t even need to kidnap her, which was a nice plus since Akira wasn’t really too fond of having attempted kidnapping on his conscience. He had enough on his mind as is.

Saturday after school, Akira, Ann, and Ryuji had approached her on the school rooftop, where they had professed that they needed her help with something, the result of which would end up helping her father realize some of the wrong’s he’d been committing. It was a bit of a long-shot, but they figured that if she was an arranged marriage that she wasn’t fond of, then it would make sense that she’d be unhappy with some of her father’s...business practices as an extension of that.

Luckily, they’d been right.

 _“Are you sure this is going to help my father?”_ Haru had asked after they posed the question.

 _“It will. We can really explain now, but you have to trust us,”_ Ann told her.

And in a very strange yet very lucky twist of fate, Haru did trust them. No more questions asked.

All together it perhaps hadn’t been the most intricate plan, but they were at least as honest as they could be without sounding completely insane and risking her running for help. Previously Akira had come up with a few ideas on how they could trick her- giving her a blindfold and telling her that they were going to a super secret gardening club. Of course, if that was the plan they used then they’d need to somehow fabricate an actual gardening club out of risk of her finding out something was up when she triggered the lock and they immediately attempted to send her on her merry way. And that was only if nothing else happened to tip her off to the fact that she was in somewhere highly unusual considering they’d need to first walk her through a good portion of the palace in order to even reach the door.

In short: the vague yet honest approach had been the best way to go about things.

They all meet the next day on the street that they’d entered through before. It was a Sunday which meant they’d have the entire day to get as much done as they needed. Ann and Akira are the ones who go together to collect Haru from the station, and as they approach the group with her in tow, Akira’s eyes find their way to Akechi.

It’s the first time he’s seen him since the impromptu sleepover the other night, and Akira’s not really sure what he expects. Maybe a bit of acknowledgment, some sort of a change from before, but the only thing Akira really picks up that’s different than normal is that the shadows under his eyes look to have darkened even through all the makeup he knows Akechi must have applied over them. He looks _tired_ , even more than usual, and the ever-present ball of concern Akira has for him grows.

“Hello, I’m Haru Okumura,” Haru says the moment they join the small circle that the rest of the team has formed on the street. “it’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Oh yeah it’s um, nice to meet you,” Futaba greets her somewhat awkwardly, but Akira’s just happy to see that she’s trying. She’d improved a lot just in these past few weeks, and it was amazing that she was even out here on a busy street with them.

“I’m very glad to see that you decided to join us of your own free will,” Yusuke says to her as if that’s a perfectly normal thing to say to someone.

“Yusuke!” Ann hisses, receiving a confused look from him in response.

“I have to say,” Haru notes, glancing around the street curiously, “I wasn’t really expecting this to be the place we would be meeting.”

“Uh well, it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Ann tells her. She looks like she’s about to say more when Akechi steps forward.

“If we’re all quite done, I’d like to get in there sometime today,” he says impatiently.

The rest of the group exchanges looks, but Akira takes that moment to input the keywords into the Nav before anything more could be said. Akechi was clearly still...having a rough time of it. He didn’t need to be questioned, and he was probably right anyway. It wasn’t the best idea for all of them to be discussing things in the middle of the street where any passersby could hear.

As the world distorts around them and they finally enter the palace, Akira isn’t entirely sure what reaction they’re going to get from Haru. In his experience no one had taken things...too badly, but he did understand it was a lot to take in at first.

Of course, somehow, Haru also takes that a lot better than he’d expected.

“Oh wow, your clothes changed!” She says excitedly, clapping her hands together as if she was completely endeared by the whole affair. “That’s so cool!”

“Right!?!” Skull says, matching her enthusiasm as if he hasn’t already done this about a million times.

Haru then glances around at their surroundings, taking in the ugly space theme that this place seemed to have going for it.

“This is a very...interesting place,” she says far too kindly. “Is it my father’s?”

“It’s a place based on your father’s cognition,” Mona answers her, causing her to look down at his monster-cat form in clear surprise.

“Oh, and who is this?”

“That’s Mona,” Panther says.

“He’s my cat,” Joker says at the same time.

“I’m not a cat!” Is Mona’s immediate predictable answer.

“Well it is a pleasure to meet you, Mona-Chan,” Haru says with a kind smile before taking another moment to look around. “My father’s cognition…I admit I’m still a bit confused.”

It made sense that she was, but the less she knew about all this the better. Getting her involved in Phantom Thief business was not something that they wanted to do, so it was best to avoid as much detail as possible.

“We can explain things a bit more later,” Joker finally cuts in, stepping into leader-mode. “Right now we need you to trust us. It’s dangerous here and we should do what we need to as quickly as possible.”

“I see…” she says, trailing off and looking a bit uncertain. Yet, before Joker has the chance to worry about if she might be getting second thoughts about all this, she seems to firm her resolve and straightens up to look at him with eyes filled with an admirable amount of determination. “Then I promise to keep up,” she tells him.

And so, with one last look towards the rest of the group, Joker starts leading them through the palace.

True to her word, Haru stays toward the back but manages to keep pace with them all as they move from hiding place to hiding place. They’re able to avoid the shadows that are patrolling the halls under the guise of robots, and although Haru seems a bit concerned by the sight of them, she thankfully remains silent.

It’s not long before they reach the biometric door once again.

“This here’s the door we need your help to get through,” Oracle explains to her. “It has a biometric lock, but since you’re Okumura’s daughter it should also open for you.”

“So, it requires the DNA of an Okumura…” she says softly to herself. When she looks up her expression is once again resolute. “Leave it to me.”

The moment she steps forward in front of the door, it scans her and they all watch as the screen above flashes with a green _‘Access Granted’_. And finally, the impenetrable structure slides open, revealing the way forward.

 _Mission accomplished,_ Joker thinks to himself. Now all they needed to do was get Oracle to hack the doors so that they’d stay open, then they could safely get her out of here and all will have gone exactly as planned.

Joker notices Crow looking towards the stationary Oracle, seeming as if he’s as if to remind her of the plan, when Haru’s voice cuts in before he has a chance to say anything.

“Can I ask you all something?” She says, sounding a bit hesitant. “I didn’t want to say anything before in case I was wrong, but you all are the Phantom Thieves aren’t you?”

Joker blinks at her, struck completely speechless.

That was...not at all what he’d expected her to say.

“Woah, how’d you know?” Skull chimes in before they even have the chance to try to deny it, successfully confirming her suspicions.

“Skull!” Panther hisses.

“It’s okay I won’t tell anyone,” Haru says, her smile somewhat melancholy. “Truthfully, I’m thankful that you’re attempting to change my father’s heart. I realize that he’s not the person he used to be and I would like to help him in any way possible,” she says, throwing Joker for yet another loop. She was taking all of this...surprisingly well. Her tone carries a degree of nostalgia as she continues; “In a way, you all are like superheroes I used to see on TV. The heroes of justice I used to look up to, who always fought for others, not themselves...they always seemed so happy. I wanted to be just like that! Even if I knew it was a fantasy...I still looked up to them.”

“That’s all well and good,” Crow says, massaging his temple as if he’s getting another migraine, “Although don’t you think we should-“

_“What are you doing here?!”_

Whatever Crow had been about to say is cut off by another voice, and Joker watches as instantly stiffens at the sound.

Looking up to see Okumura’s shadow approaching them, Joker slightly moves to the side to stand in front of Crow without seeming too obvious, knowing that Crow wouldn’t be able to fight well if his head was killing him. It’s a really stupid inane action that Joker has attempted on multiple occasions only to receive a glare from Crow in response. Only this time, Crow stays where he is and doesn’t say anything, which Joker is simultaneously thankful for and worried about.

Haru meanwhile, is staring at the image of her father in some sort of ugly spacesuit in complete shock. Whether that shock is entirely due to the sight of him in general, or due to the fact that his skin seems to be neon blue for some reason, is unclear.

“This is insane on so many levels!” Panther says and Joker nods in agreement.

“I thought I told you not to associate with vulgar people!” Okumura’s shadow says, his daze trained on Haru as an unfamiliar cognition in a white suit bursts into existence and steps forward beside him.

“Him?!” Haru says, clearly shocked by the cognition’s presence. “Did he come in here too?!”

“Do you know him Haru?” Panther asks.

Haru hesitates for a moment before quietly professing, “That’s...my fiancé.”

“Dude…” Ryuji says, offering her a sympathetic look.

“He might look the same but that isn’t the real person,” Mona chimes in. “He’s only a cognition.”

Joker’s not really sure how much Haru would really understand about cognitions, but after a moment she nods.

“I see…” she says.

“Shouldn’t we at least _try_ to attack him while we have the chance?” Crow mutters to Joker from where he’s still standing behind him. He sounds a bit impatient, but while Joker understands his point, he also knows that it’s an idea that could have really bad consequences.

“It isn’t big enough here for a full boss fight,” Joker whispers back to him. “We have no idea what his true form is.”

“Would it really hurt to try?”

“It could, yeah,” Joker shoots back, thinking back to Kaneshiro’s giant piggy bank and not wanting to find out if Okumura was about to summon some sort of full-sized spaceship they could all get crushed under.

“You’re too soft, Joker,” Crow tells him, sounding a bit annoyed. “If he turns out to be too big for the room or if we accidentally kill him then we can deal with it later.”

Joker blinks.

“If we _what?_ ”

“That was a joke,” Crow tells him flatly, “I’m merely suggesting we try to save time…” He trails off before quietly adding, “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Joker turns back to the scene at hand to see what he’s looking at, only to find that at some point Haru had ended up on her knees as the cognition of her fiancé, now a giant robot, looms over her.

And yet before anyone can even move forward to protect her, a very familiar air of light and power bursts from around her small form.

 _Well, so much for not getting her involved with this,_ Joker thinks, watching the familiar transformation start to take place as she awakens to her persona.

“Well, fuck,” Crow mutters from beside him and Joker can’t help but agree.

***

The next time they find themselves at the palace it’s a few days later.

Haru needed a good amount of rest after her awakening since she was now part of the team and would be going with them. She’d also presented them with yet another reason that they needed to push forward through the palace as quickly as possible, considering that she’d be forced into her arranged marriage in about three weeks. Akira, of course, was planning for them to finish up long before that, and considering Akechi also seemed adamant about going through as quickly as possible, Akira wasn’t about to delay things any more than absolutely necessary.

What he hadn’t exactly been anticipating however, is that Okumura’s palace ends up being an actual nightmare. They were currently playing a game of find the chief, as they were gathering information from a countless number of robots and searching for ID’s that would then allow them to access a different part of the palace so they could…talk to and fight more robots. After they were done with this, Akira never wanted to see another robot for the rest of his life.

“I can’t believe you didn’t talk to him!” Panther hisses as she ducks down to avoid getting hit by one of the small annoying blue robots that kept popping up every few seconds.

Their current conversation was, of course, centered around Joker’s very casual admittance that he hadn’t talked to Crow yet, seconds before engaging in a fight with what he hoped was the real chief director robot. It was a rather cowardly move, but he hoped that it might be enough to let him escape the consequences of his actions.

Panther apparently was not letting him off that easy. At least Crow was currently occupied with trying to cut through the giant green steel body of the chief director robot with his sword alone- and somehow seemed to actually be making progress.

“Fucking die you robotic piece of shit!” Crow yells.

Joker really shouldn’t even be surprised at the amount of pure force he seemed to be capable of using, considering that Crow was practically tearing through everything they came across in the palace at an almost frightening pace. He was acting similar to how he’d been in Futaba’s palace, only this time his urgency is a little less reckless and a lot more... _tired_. As if he was done with this place, and just wanted to get it done as soon as possible so he didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

And well...Joker really understood the feeling.

“You better answer me, Joker!” Panther says, barely managing to keep her voice down enough that it wouldn’t get carried across the battlefield unless someone was trying to listen in instead of focusing on the fight.

“I’ve been busy!” He weakly defends as he summons Phoenix to cast Diarama on Crow after the chief director robot manages to get a hit in. Crow doesn’t even look towards him, instead rushing right back into the fight with a furious yell.

“You know that’s no excuse!” Panther says, Hecate casting Agilao on a robot that had come up behind Joker without him even noticing. It goes down in a burst of fire, fading back into black shadow, and once it’s gone Joker and Panther turn to the last small blue robot in their vicinity.

Joker summons Arsene and the last robot goes down under a reign of fire and darkness. Which finally leaves only the massive green boss robot standing in the middle that the rest of the team had been focusing their attention on.

Sparks fly up from its large towering green body from a hail of bullets as Noir summons Milady, her own grenade launcher still held skillfully in her hands.

“This is actually kind of fun!” She professes cheerily.

Well, Joker supposes it was good that at least one of them was apparently having fun.

After this he was...definitely going to call it a day. There were only so many robots he could take, and he knew that if they didn’t take the chief director robot down soon he was only going to summon more of the little blue minion robots.

The thought alone makes him want to scream.

Thankfully, a Psio from Milady finally brings its massive form to its knees, and with the field clear of the smaller ones they’re able to go in for an all-out-attack. With that, the massive green robot goes down in a plume of shadow, and on the floor in its place is what Joker sincerely hopes is the chief director’s ID card.

However, before he can walk over to inspect it, Panther leans in one last time to say:

“You’re going _today_ , Joker. This is your last chance or I _will_ talk to him.”

He finds his gaze traveling to Crow who looked to be bickering with Mona for some reason or another, Joker honestly couldn’t keep up with their strange rivalry anymore.

With a sigh, Joker wearily turns back to Panther and says, “Yeah, I’ll go see him after we leave today.”

Somehow he’d just have to manage it, he couldn’t hide forever. If Panther was this confident, then things were bound to turn out okay. He’d be fine.

Well, at least he hoped.

***

Akira was not fine.

Ann had taken Morgana for the rest of the night, and Morgana had of course been so utterly overjoyed at the prospect of spending time with Lady Ann that he hadn’t even bothered to ask any questions.

Which of course, left him completely alone, standing outside of the door of Akechi’s apartment feeling a lot like he was here to pick him up for prom, or to _propose-_ for as ridiculous as that notion was. The box in his hand feels heavy, and within it was the souvenir that he’d had to stop back at Leblanc to get since he hadn’t exactly been intending to show up at Akechi’s apartment today. While the bangle wasn’t inherently a romantic gift, today Akira was going to make it into one. Whether that was by using it to create a talking point, or just dropping the overtly expensive piece of jewelry into Akechi’s hands and saying with all the conviction of his sad little heart, _I really like you-_

Well, Akira was unclear on that. He was more so hoping to just see where the conversation led, he’d never exactly done anything like this before.

“You can do this,” he says softly to himself, the words seeming uncertain even to his own ears.

Placing the very telling and obvious jewelry box back into the unoccupied Mona-bag, Akira takes a deep breath, and then slowly raises his hand to knock on Akechi’s apartment door.

From inside there’s the distinct sound of a muted curse, indicating that Akechi was definitely home and he wasn’t going to be able to walk back to Ann with the excuse that he’d _tried_ but Akechi just hadn’t been there.

Akira’s stomach flutters and coils with nerves. _Oh god, he was going to be sick._ This was such a dumb and stupid idea, Akechi was going to reject him and then he’d never want to talk to him again, and it’d be all Ann’s fault for not understanding that there was no possible way that Akechi could feel the same way and-

The door swings open to reveal Akechi, still dressed in his slacks and white dress shirt, as if he’d only recently gotten back from the palace and hadn’t bothered to get changed into something more comfortable yet. Akira had been in a constant state of panic ever since he’d walked out of the Metaverse, but he’d gotten to the station just as the train was pulling up on his way back from Leblanc, and so he’d made really good time.

In what might not be such a great start to his visit, Akechi doesn’t immediately let him in and instead stands in the doorway with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“Did you follow me home?” Akechi asks him with a fair bit of suspicion, and Akira all at once laments the fact that he’d gone and made himself into the type of person who’d do something like that.

Lifting his hand, Akira fiddles with his fringe and ungracefully says; “Uh no. I um, I have your souvenir that I forgot to give to you.” He then gestures vaguely to the Mona-bag on his shoulder and he sees a bit of surprise crop up in Akechi’s expression.

“You didn’t bring the cat,” he notes, and Akira finds himself fidgeting a bit, thinking he has to be imagining the hint of relief in his tone.

“Yeah, he’s with Ann.”

Akechi makes a thoughtful noise in response, hesitating for another moment before finally stepping out of the way of the door with a simple; “Fine then.”

With step one of his not-very-well-thought-out plan complete, Akira steps into Akechi’s apartment and hovers awkwardly by the door. It was stupid because he’d been over Akechi’s place dozens of times before, and yet this time is profoundly _different_. It’s the anticipation of what he knows he came here to do, and how he’s not sure how any of this is supposed to go or what he’s supposed to even do, and god he is so utterly out of his element-

“Are you just going to stand there all day?”

Akira looks over to see Akechi already standing over by his sofa, arms crossed and looking at him expectantly. Swallowing down his small book of emotions, Akira makes his way over to him and settles down on the sofa after Akechi does, making sure that he leaves a respectable amount of distance between them. On the TV is some kind of nature documentary, which he figures was probably put more on for noise than anything, and on the table sits Akechi’s tie he must have only just taken off. The Mona-bag sits heavily next to him, the bag brushing against Akira’s thigh as a constant reminder of what was hidden inside.

Instinctively, Akira finds himself settling back into the sofa in a way that would make it easy for Akechi to rest his legs across his thighs if he wanted to. It’d become fairly routine for them after all, even though now probably wasn’t the best time for that and Akechi was still in his slacks anyway so he probably wouldn’t want to. It’d probably be hard for him to get comfortable, and that thought of course reminds Akira of the lumpy sofa in his room that Akechi had slept on the other night. Before any stilted and awkward confessions that had the possibility of ruining everything between them, Akira should...probably try bringing that up first.

“Next time you stay over, you should really take the bed,” Akira finds himself saying like the simple-minded idiot he sometimes proved himself to be. It probably wasn’t the most _ideal_ place to start the conversation, but it was the aspect his mind was currently stuck on.

“The sofa was fine,” Akechi responds like a liar, since Akira knows that the sofa in his room is about as comfortable as a bed of rocks with a thin sheet over them. Still, it doesn’t escape Akira’s notice that Akechi never adamantly denies that there could possibly be a next time, and that’s enough to remind him that he’d really like to know the _reason_ he’d shown up in the first place.

“What happened the other night anyway?” He asks, trying to pull Joker out from wherever it was he liked to hide in his subconscious. It was a serious question and he wanted an actual answer, because romantic feelings for Akechi aside, Akira was just plain _worried_ about him.

Akechi hums and seems to consider him, his gloved hand resting under his chin.

“Are you holding my souvenir hostage until I answer your questions?”

“Maybe,” Akira says like the true enigma that he liked to pretend to be.

...And well, maybe he was procrastinating a bit too, but Akechi didn’t need to know that.

Akechi nods slowly, as if he’s trying to choose his words. Finally, after a moment passes, he simply says, “I’ve been having nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” Akira asks, honestly not having expected that answer.

With a nod, Akechi continues, “It’s possible they’ve caused me to be more on edge lately, and combined with the frequent migraines, I think I’ve been experiencing stress-induced visual and auditory hallucinations. A fairly common symptom of anxiety, it’s nothing you should concern yourself over.”

He says it as if he’s quoting something. As if he’s run that same explanation through his head a dozen times, and Akira’s not quite sure how much he believes it.

 _Maybe he just wanted to see me,_ his brain supplies entirely unhelpfully, and he pushes that embarrassing thought back down to the depths of his mind.

“Did you think your apartment could be haunted?” Akira says instead, lips tilting into a playful smirk that he hopes detracts from the fact that he’s now trying to deflect from his own thoughts.

It at the very least gets Akechi to laugh. “Are you afraid of ghosts, Kurusu?” He asks with an amused grin. “This is the second time you’ve brought them up.”

“Are _you?”_

 _“Terrified.”_ Akechi says, his grin gaining a slightly devious edge. “What else could have possibly driven me to Leblanc in the dead of night?”

Akira has the very real suspicion that he was taunting him with something. Yet another secret that he was holding just out of reach for Akira to puzzle out the meaning to. Always opaque and self-aware of it, and yet Akira adored him anyway.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” He says a bit too fondly.

He knows exactly how it sounds, but it’s not as if he was going to be trying to hide it anymore after this anyway.

If Akechi catches his small slip up, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he just hums, places his chin in his hand, and gives Akira a heavy look as he says, “Have I earned my gift yet?”

Akira’s heart immediately picks up a frenzied tempo, loud enough that he’s sure Akechi must be able to hear it.

“Oh um, yeah,” he mutters, reaching into his bag and finally pulling out the small box. He briefly considers confessing now, giving some sort of speech before he finally hands over the box, only to find that his tongue is lodged somewhere in his throat and he suddenly can’t even remember how words are supposed to work. So instead, he somewhat ineloquently offers the box to Akechi, catching his raised brow as he takes it within his gloved hands.

Akira watches in anxious silence as Akechi removes the lid and reveals the delicate silver bangle housed within. Akechi’s completely silent as he studies the expensive piece of jewelry. He raises a hand and touches the side of it gently, staring down at it thoughtfully, as if considering something.

Meanwhile, Akira thinks he might actually be dying. His heart has decided to pound at such an intensive tempo that he wouldn’t be surprised if it somehow managed to flutter up his windpipe and choke him to death. It would be a fitting end really, and at the very least he wouldn’t have to explain himself to Akechi. Or alternatively return to Ann so Akira could tell her that he could hardly even handle giving Akechi his gift and so he’s pretty sure that trying to confess would actually end in his untimely death per pure mortification.

He watches as Akechi wordlessly closes the box and places it on the table before he settles comfortably back against the armrest of the couch.

“Kurusu, come here,” he says.

Akira’s heart stops beating.

Akechi’s eyes are half-lidded and his legs are spread just enough for Akira to fit himself between when he silently moves across the couch with his pulse pounding on his ears. He feels like he’s in a dream when he finds himself kneeling between Akechi’s long slim legs, like a teenage boy at the altar of everything he’s ever wanted and thought he’d never get the chance to have. Akechi lifts a hand to his cheek, his palm soft and achingly gentle against his flushed skin, and yet when Akira meets his eyes it’s only to find Akechi staring intently into his own, expression unreadable as he seems to be contemplating something. Whatever emotion he must see laid bare on Akira’s face must be telling because Akechi’s lips tilt into a somewhat smug little grin.

And that’s all Akira has time to register before Akechi fists a hand into the material of his shirt and pulls him forward into a kiss.

The world abruptly halts on its axis and Akira is suspended in time, frozen and unable to focus on anything besides the warm wetness of Akechi’s lips slotted against his own. His heartbeat is a physical thing, loud and pounding in his ears, muting the low keening sound that he’s pretty sure comes from his own throat. Akechi tilts his head to fit their mouths better together, his hands moving to rest almost hesitantly on Akira’s shoulders- his touch suddenly a bit uncertain, and it’s that which finally drives Akira into action.

Akira kisses back with all that he has, he cups the back of Akechi’s head, gently pulling him in closer, and his opposite arm wraps around Akechi’s waist, steadying him as Akechi further leans back against the arm of the couch. A small noise of surprise escapes Akechi’s lips, but in response he only kisses back more intensely, his lips almost harshly pressing against Akira’s own. A warm aching feeling blossoms deep within Akira’s gut, his every nerve ending on fire, and Akira loses himself in it.

Kissing Akechi is by far the best thing he’s ever done, the best thing he thinks he might ever do. He’d never be able to _stop_ thinking about this. Akechi had successfully ruined any chance of Akira ever managing to get over him with one kiss.

“Does this mean I can call you _Goro_ now?” Akira says when he pulls back, his voice shaky and breathless.

Akechi presses a thumb against his lip and leans in. “Absolutely not,” he breathes with a sly grin. He then presses a single teasing kiss to the corner of Akira’s mouth before pulling back entirely.

“Are you hungry, Kurusu?” He says with a playful tone that Akira finds absolutely adorable- enough that he can’t even be mad at him for being a brat. “I think there’s still some things left in the fridge from last time if you wanted to make something.”

Akira blinks at him, head still too dazed to keep up with the sudden change of conversation.

“Is this your way of telling me you want me to cook for you?” Akira finds himself asking without thinking.

At least Akechi doesn’t seem too bothered by his words, grinning lazily and lightly pushing Akira back with a simple; “Well if you’re here you might as well make yourself useful.”

“I can do more than just cook you know,” Akira teases back, only realizing the implications of his words once they’re already out. He really needed to work on his brain to mouth filter more.

“Oh, I’m sure you can, Kurusu,” Akechi practically purrs, stretching like a contented cat and settling back farther onto the sofa. “But we can continue this another time. As it were, I’m still feeling drained from the Metaverse and I’m not up for much at the moment.”

Akira blinks.

“Right, another time,” he says numbly, the meaning of what he’s saying slowly sinking in. “I’m pretty tired too so maybe it’s best if I just go...do that now.”

Instead of saying anything, Akechi just gives him an amused look, and Akira finally detaches himself from him, rising to his feet. Somehow feeling both numb and overwhelmed by far too much emotion, Akira turns without a word and flees into the kitchen.

Once Akechi is fully out of sight, Akira leans back against the countertop and tries to collect his thoughts. His heart is still racing and he can’t seem to wrap his mind around what just happened even as the scene itself keeps replaying endlessly through his head on a nonstop loop.

_What the hell just happened?_

He’d gone so long thinking that Akechi couldn’t have possibly held any feelings for him; and yet, Akechi had been the one to kiss him first. So, clearly they must have been on the same page all along. The same wavelength. Akechi must have liked him the entire time, but had just been too worried about saying anything in the same way Akira had been. But Akechi had understood what the bangle meant without Akira even having to explain, because they understood each other like that.

Akira grins, a slow giddy excitement spreading throughout his body and sinking deep within his heart.

He couldn’t wait to tell Ann that he and Akechi were finally _dating_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3


	20. GORO X: Breach of Contract

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take note there is sexual content in this chapter! It isn't explicit but it does skirt the M rating!

Kurusu handed him a bangle, and immediately Goro understood.

He gently touched the unblemished metal - silver - studying the delicate engravings and the craftsmanship, and knew it hadn't been cheap in the slightest. Kurusu had  _ splurged _ for him, an expensive gift to sweeten the deal of his clumsily delivered proposition, like it could do most of the talking for him. How adorably…  _ shy. _

Goro closed the box.

He found himself reevaluating their past encounters under a new lens - Kurusu, feeding him homemade bentos, fussing over him, becoming increasing tactile as he gazed at him more and more intently as the days went by. Goro had assumed it to be suspicion, or calculation, or perhaps the results of a convoluted plan to lull him into a false sense of security and catch him out in a slip up or lie - but maybe there was a simpler explanation for it all. Maybe, alongside that suspicion and calculation and scheming, there was something far more basic and carnal about it all too. 

Goro set the box down on the coffee table, leaning back against the arm of the sofa as he contemplated his response. Akira was still as stone, his grey eyes intensely staring at him, bright and smouldering with a nervous kind of hope and anticipation. It was so obvious now, that familiar edge of  _ hunger _ in his dark eyes. Goro was simply amazed that after seeing all the rotten, cracked parts of him, Kurusu still thought him worth having. 

But, Kurusu always had strange tastes, didn’t he?

_ i shouldn't,  _ his common sense whispered,  _ even if it’s just physical, i don’t need that complication. _

But he did, didn't he?

Goro was at a cracking point, he knew. Too many stressors were demanding his attention, Kurusu being one of them, all crushing down on him and  _ suffocating, _ refusing to ease up on the pressure. He needed something to distract him. He needed a good  _ complication _ to blunt the edges of his anxieties so he can stop having stupid fucking nightmares about Loki eating him in his sleep, stop hallucinating that spectre looming over him in the dark corners of his room, stop  _ thinking _ about the sword of damocles dangling mere milimetres above his nape as Shido’s deadline came hurtling towards him with the force of a speeding train. He needed…

He really needed a distraction, no matter how ill-advised.

So, Goro met Akira's hopeful, hungry gaze, and accepted his wordless proposition.

"Kurusu, come here," he purred, and watched with heavy-lidded eyes as he obeyed. The leader of the Phantom Thieves crawled towards him like an eager dog, slotting neatly between his spread legs. Kurusu looked faintly disbelieving, like he couldn't comprehend how this was happening. It was a nice ego boost, admittedly. A snap of his fingers and Kurusu obeyed without hesitation.

He pressed his palm against his cheek, holding Kurusu’s head still as he intensely studied him. Kurusu stared up at him with a raw kind of desire, surprisingly open on his usually inscrutable face. It was a look that suited him well, that Goro wanted to see more directed towards him, without the shadow of concern or suspicion lurking in the background. 

_ who knew kurusu had hidden away this much desperation? _

Goro smirked and pulled him in for a kiss. 

It was  _ immediately _ apparent that this was  _ new _ for him. Kurusu was slow to react, slow enough that for a split second Goro worried he had miscalculated or presumed too much, but then Kurusu made a  _ noise, _ low and keening, right in the back of his throat, and was kissing back with all the enthusiasm of an overexcited virgin. It should’ve been irritating, but Goro just found it endearing instead. 

Finally, something he  _ wasn’t _ perfect at.

Kurusu broke the kiss before Goro could try to deepen it, the both of them breathing a little heavier despite barely anything happening. He tilted his head a fraction, questioningly, watching in open interest as Kurusu briefly bit his bottom lip. 

“Does this mean I can call you Goro now?” Kurusu asked, his voice rougher than usual. 

Goro almost snorted. Of all the things to ask in this moment… 

He pressed his thumb against Kurusu’s bottom lip, putting a bit of pressure there as he leaned in and purred, “Absolutely not,” softening the rejection with a brief kiss on the corner of his mouth. Predictably, Kurusu- no,  _ Akira, _ pouted, like an absolute child, and Goro couldn’t help but feel smug about it. 

“Are you hungry, Kurusu?” Goro asked playfully, “I think there’s still some things left in the fridge from last time, if you wanted to make something.”

Akira was a bit slow on the uptake, blinking at him a little dazedly as his brain fumbled for the reins, “...is this your way of telling me you want me to cook for you?”

Really, one kiss and it turned Akira into a scatterbrained mess. It was kind of cute - and extremely funny. 

_i’ll have to take advantage of that,_ Goro mused, idly pushing Akira back so he wasn’t crowding his personal space so much. If they weren’t going to _do_ _anything,_ then he didn’t want him hovering so close. 

“Well, if you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful,” Goro said honestly. 

“I can do more than just cook, you know,” Akira said suggestively, and it was  _ tempting _ but- 

“Oh, I’m sure you can, Kurusu,” Goro purred, taking a moment to stretch out his stiff muscles. The exhaustion from their earlier foray into Okumura’s Palace was creeping back in, making his joints twinge and his head faintly pound. Funny, how his usual migraine was mysteriously absent in Akira’s presence. He really was a good distraction.

“But… we can continue this another time,” he finished, relaxing out of his stretch and languidly sprawling in the sofa, his eyelids feeling heavy, “As it were, I’m still feeling drained from the Metaverse, and I’m not up for much at the moment.” 

“Right, another time,” Akira said, sounding disappointed, “I’m pretty tired too so… maybe it’s best if I just go… do that now.” 

Goro watched with tired amusement as Akira scrambled to his safe haven, the kitchen of course. Despite the kiss, as short-lived and clumsy as it was, nothing had really changed between them. Good. Goro would’ve been annoyed if Akira got all  _ weird _ about this. 

As the sounds of Akira cooking rose from the kitchen, Goro leaned over and picked up the box again, opening it up. This bangle really was pretty - it actually suited his tastes, not too tacky but not cheap looking either. He eased it out of the box and put it on, admiring it for a moment. His heart fluttered strangely at the sight of it, but he pushed the odd feeling aside, tossing the empty box on the coffee table and slouching down into a supine position on the sofa, stifling a yawn. 

He hadn’t slept well since he had hallucinated Loki in his apartment, too on edge and anxious to become entirely vulnerable, his fitful dreams plagued with crimson fangs and outstretched claws. But this time… instead of anxiety gnawing at his heartstrings, he just felt exhausted, the silence of the apartment softened by the muffled sounds of Akira moving about the kitchen. It made the shadows in his mind retreat a little, still  _ there _ but out of reach, jealously watching. 

Goro fell asleep without realising, and didn’t dream at all. 

* * *

The dynamic of the Phantom Thieves had shifted. 

It was subtle, enough so that Goro didn’t immediately notice when they dived back into Okumura’s Palace a few days later. With Haru joining them, they saw no need to hack the biometric doors from the inside and risk Shadow Okumura countering that by changing the cognitive barrier into something more troublesome to surmount. Goro had argued against it, of course, but he had been overruled by the group. 

It seemed he would have to find another way to kill Okumura behind their backs. 

But that was a problem to stew over later. Right now, Goro was slowly becoming aware that the Phantom Thieves were giving him and Joker  _ looks,  _ adjusting their formation so they were always fighting side-by-side _. _ Also Ann kept giving him a big thumbs up every time he looked at her, her expression that of a proud mother over her socially awkward child making friends. It left Goro utterly confused. 

When they took a break from Okumura’s terrible Palace in a Safe Room, Goro questioned Joker about it just outside the doors - the others had eagerly given them ‘privacy’ with knowing grins (Sakamoto) and winks (Ann). Mona had attempted to chaperone, though, but Ann, bless her heart, had forcibly scruffed the cat despite his loud protests. 

“Oh, I told Ann about us, so…” Joker shrugged, “I guess that’s why?”

“You told her?” Goro asked in surprise. He thought their arrangement was a private one. 

“Yeah?” Joker’s easy confidence faltered, his grey eyes uncertain as he scrutinised Goro’s expression, “Did you… want it to be a secret?”

Goro was quiet for a moment. He didn’t particularly care if the Phantom Thieves knew or not, he was just… confused why Akira would be so eager to tell them. Last he heard, being ‘friends with benefits’ with your male friend was looked down upon in most social circles. Then again, the Phantom Thieves were hardly normal, being a bunch of crazy outcasts… 

“No, of course not,” he said after a pause, “I am just surprised at how… open you were about it. Homosexual relations are, well, still looked down upon…”

Joker made a small noise of understanding, “Oh, no, they’re fine about that. They’re not bothered about us both being guys.”

There was a pause. Abruptly, Joker gave him a piercing, scrutinising look, like he was trying to dissect Goro with his eyes alone. It was a powerful stare; it made him feel flayed to the bone, and Goro immediately moved to counteract it, stepping forwards and pushing his mask up and to the side, so the long, piercing beak wouldn’t get in the way. 

“I’m sorry,” Goro murmured in a low, purring voice, reaching out and plucking Joker’s mask off of him. Joker didn’t stop him, “After spending so long in the public’s spotlight, I am painfully aware of what information would destroy me utterly. I’m being overly cautious, as always.”

“In your interviews, you always say you don’t have time for relationships,” Joker said questioningly, his voice husky. 

Lovely. 

“I don’t,” Goro said pointedly, gesturing to Okumura’s Palace as a whole with Joker’s mask. He was still being trapped beneath that powerful, grey-eyed gaze, so Goro leaned in, gripping the collar of Akira’s coat to pull him in for a short, yet intense kiss that left them both panting and hot. 

Joker looked dazed. Better. 

“I’m fine with  _ just them _ knowing about it,” Goro said, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice. He put Joker’s mask back on and patted his cheek, “Now, let’s not keep them waiting, hm?”

Joker nodded jerkily, and obediently followed him into the Safe Room, no longer giving Goro that piercing stare. 

Good. 

* * *

Joker called a stop to the infiltration just short of exploring the Palace’s factory. Normally Goro would complain, growl at him to press on that little bit more since they made little progress comparative to last time - but everyone was tired and exhausted after dealing with Okumura’s Corporobo MDL-WKR, and Goro was anxious for the Thieves to take as long as possible to reach the treasure, to give him time to  _ figure something out. _

Without Haru, he cannot enter the Palace of his own accord. Confronting Okumura with the Phantom Thieves, however, would restrict him to non-lethal means, especially with Haru in attendance. She would interfere in her father’s murder, no doubt, or become a  _ problem _ that he’d be forced to deal with. He couldn’t do that, though. Haru had seamlessly integrated with the group like she had always belonged, making fast friends with everyone. She was so soft-spoken and lovely, it was difficult to hate her. The Phantom Thieves would be sad if Goro got rid of her and he… didn't want to hurt her either. 

So he despised her on principle.

“Why do you keep glaring at Noir?” Morgana asked him suspiciously. They were both at the rear of the group as they headed for the Palace exit, the cat’s voice pitched low enough that no one else picked up on their conversation. Joker was ahead, in deep discussion with  _ Noir. _

“I’m not glaring,” Goro said coldly. 

“Right,” Morgana said sceptically, “that’s why you’re doing this.”

The cat squinted his eyes half-shut in a comically exaggerated glare, his mouth pulled up into a snarl. Goro watched him tiredly. 

“He’s probably  _ jealous~” _ Sakamoto said, lagging behind to give Goro a teasing grin, “Geeze, you two have been together, what, a few days? And already you’re wanting to mark your territory.”

“We’re not dogs,” Goro growled, slightly miffed at the observation, “And I’m not that insecure. Joker is allowed to speak with others as he pleases. It doesn’t bother me.” 

“So, why’re you glaring at Noir?” Morgana pressed. 

“She’s an Okumura,” Goro grumbled, hoping that would suffice as an explanation. 

“I mean, she can’t help having a shitty dad,” Sakamoto said, scratching the back of his neck. The blond gave him a look, unusually sharp for him, “Right?”

Goro shifted uncomfortably, disliking the knowing glint in Sakamoto’s eyes. 

“I wouldn’t know,” he said defensively. 

“Sure,” Sakamoto thankfully dropped the subject, “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry, man. Joker’s absolutely  _ crazy _ about-”

“Oh? Has it finally happened?” Kitagawa invaded their conversation next, “Has the mutual pining been resolved at long last?”

“Pining?” Goro scoffed, “There wasn’t any  _ mutual pining.” _

“Hm,” Kitagawa said doubtfully. 

“Hm,” Sakamoto echoed him. 

“Shut up,” Goro snapped, and lengthened his strides to escape them. Sakamoto’s obnoxious laughter chased his heels, and Goro took shelter with the less judgemental Ann. 

He regretted this immediately when Ann turned to him with a bright smile, “Crow! Did I tell you, I’m so glad you and Joker-”

“I’ve been told, repeatedly,” Goro deadpanned, confused why everyone was making such a fuss about it. They were acting like he and Akira got fucking  _ married _ or something, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“For Joker it was,” Ann said seriously, “You should’ve seen him, he kept trying to chicken out of asking you, and I had to endure all of his ‘oh, but Ann, he’s so  _ sexy~’ _ nonsense. I don’t think he’s very experienced with, well, y’know…”

Goro thought back to their first kiss, how Akira’s enthusiasm hadn’t concealed his inexperience, and said, very dryly, “I got that impression, yes.”

“Please don’t eat him alive,” Ann groaned, “Be gentle.”

“Panther,” Goro purred, “I am always…  _ gentle.” _

“Uh huh,” Ann didn’t believe him in the slightest, “As gentle as a kick to the balls.”

Goro gave her a savage grin. 

Ann rolled her eyes and gently pushed his shoulder, urging him forwards, “Don’t leer at me like that. Go hang out with your  _ boyfriend _ like you really want to.”

Goro made a face -  _ boyfriend? _ \- but obediently skulked forwards, lingering on the fringes of Akira and Haru’s conversation without seeming too much like a lost puppy. Haru was giving her life story or something, confessing her worries about her father to a very sympathetic Akira. Goro was highly tempted to interrupt with something caustic, to not-so-gently remind her that Okumura was a monster rivaled only by Shido. 

_ your father’s a mass-murdering parasite, _ he thought viciously, clenching his jaw so hard his temples ached. Poison bubbled deep inside of him,  _ there’s nothing left to save or help. why can’t you see that? _

**_she clings to an illusion_ **

**_that no longer exists_ **

_ i’ll be doing her a favour, really, _ he agreed, narrowing his eyes at her,  _ she needs that toxic sludge out of her life. _

**_he needs to die_ **

_ but i’ll have to do it during the confrontation, _ he frowned,  _ without them realising… _

**_there is a solution_ **

**_all you need-_ **

“Oh, Crow,” Haru’s soft voice muffled that rumbling, toxic purr. Goro’s focus turned outwards with considerable difficulty, “I’m sorry, do you wish to speak to Joker?”

Goro didn’t immediately answer. He felt oddly dizzy, “...ah, no. That’s alright, Noir.” 

Akira glanced at him with a small, worried frown. Goro flashed him a disarming smile, and Akira reluctantly turned back to his conversation with Haru. The moment his attention was gone, Goro pushed his crimson mask up, feeling abruptly claustrophobic. His face was hot and clammy, his eyes itching and burning like he had sand caught in them. Exhausted, he was just… exhausted.

_ stress, it’s stress, _ he told himself, an explanation that was rapidly losing its reassurance with each repetition,  _ it’s making me hallucinate. i’m fine. _

He lowered his mask again in hopes it hid his rattled expression, unaware that a thin, hairline crack had crept along its cheek. 

* * *

Akira, of course, came to investigate the next morning. 

Unfortunately, it was a Sunday, and Akira had long since cottoned on that Goro indulged himself in a minor sleep in on the day. With no school, and most work and interviews taking place in the afternoon, it was guaranteed that his mornings were free. Goro was kicking himself for exposing such a vice, because now Akira was ruthlessly taking advantage of it. 

“It’s too early for this,” Goro grumbled into his arms as he sat at his breakfast bar, not even bothering to look well-rested. He slept like shit last night. 

Actually, that was a lie. He hadn’t slept  _ at all.  _ He had dozed for exactly one hour before an  _ awful _ nightmare had slammed him right back into paranoid wakefulness. He couldn’t quite remember the contents of the dream, but whatever it had been almost sent him sprinting to Leblanc before his pride overrode his animalistic panic. Once was enough. If he did it a second time, Akira would get  _ nosy. _

“It’s after ten,” Akira said, oblivious to Goro’s scattered mood. The only reason he hadn’t kicked him out was because he was making him breakfast, “Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

Goro grunted. 

“Headache?” Akira asked sympathetically, looking up from where he was making scrambled eggs at Goro’s request, “Maybe you should see Takemi about them. They seem to be getting really bad.”

“It’s nothing,” Goro mumbled, sitting up straight and massaging his temple, “It’s just stress…”

“From your nightmares?” Akira asked casually - probing. Investigating. 

Goro sighed and lowered his hand, saying nothing. Akira said nothing as well, seemingly engrossed in stirring the eggs. He could tell that he was very focused on him, though - Akira was always focused on him. 

“I slept fine when you were here before,” Goro said, and, to deflect and distract, he added slyly, “Perhaps that’s the solution?”

“What? You want me to stay here?”

“Tonight?” Goro murmured, his voice heavy with  _ meaning.  _

Akira paused and turned his head to stare at him. His eyes were wide behind his glasses, giving him the look of a startled deer. Goro met that shocked stare head on, his eyebrows slightly raised in a challenging;  _ ‘well?’ _

“Uh, tonight?” Akira parrotted. 

“Mhm.”

“Oh, uh, sure?” Akira near-squeaked. His hand was still, no longer stirring the eggs. He seemed to have forgotten about them entirely, “Just to - sleep, right?”

“Didn’t you say you could do more than just cook?” Goro reminded him impishly, tilting his head pointedly at the stove, “You’re burning the eggs, by the way.”

“Wh-  _ shit.” _

Akira quickly salvaged their breakfast, and the proposition was tabled as they relocated to the living room. The news was playing, a rerun of the allegations against Okumura Foods. Goro half-listened to it, far too cosy and dozy to pay attention, lounging against the arm of the sofa with his legs resting across Akira’s lap. Akira balanced his bowl on his thigh, eating with one hand while the other gently massaged Goro’s knee. 

It was… comfortable. 

“I can’t believe Okumura managed to get away with all this for so long,” Akira murmured, “People have actually died from his abuses.”

“He’s rich,” Goro said disdainfully, “He can do whatever he wants.”

“You’re very anti-bourgeois, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Men like him need to be guillotined,” Goro muttered darkly, thinking mostly of Shido who never had to suffer a single consequence in his life thanks to his  _ wealth  _ and  _ privilege. _

Akira was quiet, a small furrow between his brows as the news moved on to traffic reporting. After a comfortable pause, he asked, “Why do you hate Okumura so much?”

“Didn’t you just watch the news which outlined his many sins?”

“I know that, but…” Akira fished for the right words, “It seems… personal.” 

Akira was being nosy. Goro contemplated his response, and decided to deceive him with pure honesty, “He reminds me of my father.”

The hand on his knee went still.

“Oh?” Akira asked far too lightly. 

“Mhm,” Goro leaned over slightly to dump his bowl on the coffee table, “You’d think they were twins, with how identically grotesque their personalities are.”

Akira stared at him intently, and Goro settled back, giving him a bland smile. 

“Akechi…” Akira started. 

“Have you decided about tonight?” Goro interrupted him. 

As predicted, it thoroughly distracted him. Akira’s cheeks went a little pink, his eyes darting away bashfully, “Uhm, yes. It’s just… you know, I haven’t…  _ done it, _ before.”

“We’ll work up to it,” Goro said easily. He wasn’t a  _ complete _ asshole. Despite what he said to Ann, he was planning on being genuinely  _ gentle. _ While Akira was the source of most of his problems, he was also… he was, well… 

_ i care about him,  _ he admitted quietly to himself, and felt oddly ashamed about it,  _ i want him to enjoy himself too. _

“Work up to it,” Akira repeated. 

“You’re a virgin, right?” Goro asked bluntly, ignoring when Akira spluttered in open embarrassment, “It’s nothing to be ashamed about. I’m fine being patient with you.”

“Are- are  _ you?” _ Akira asked, his cheeks absolutely scarlet. If Goro had known it was this easy to get under his skin, he would’ve started making dirty jokes ages ago.

“Hmm, no,” Goro said playfully, and smirked when Akira shot him a shocked look, “Are you really that surprised?  _ I’m _ surprised that  _ you  _ have no experience, with looks like those.”

“L-Looks?” Akira blinked rapidly at him, “You think I’m… attractive?”

Goro gave him a very pitying look. Was Akira’s self-esteem  _ that  _ low? “I have  _ eyes, _ Kurusu.” 

“Oh,” Akira said dumbly. 

Goro considered him for a moment. Some things were clicking into place now, why Akira took  _ so long _ to approach him about this, and why Goro had to do most of the heavy lifting when he had almost fumbled it. He had noticed Akira was  _ shy _ outside of his Joker persona, but it went beyond that, didn’t it? Akira’s self-esteem had been trampled into the dirt after his arrest, and was still recovering even now. He was blind to his own qualities. 

_ we’ll work on that, _ he decided. __

“Back to my original point,” Goro said, “I won’t make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I hope you extend the same courtesy to me.”

“Of course!” Akira looked scandalised that he would think otherwise, “I mean, I’d think that’d be obvious…”

“You’d think,” Goro said wryly. 

Akira absently smoothed his palm up and down Goro’s shin, his expression falling into a thoughtful frown, “…I’m up for it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Akira looked away, the tips of his ears pink, “If that’s okay.” 

So shy. Goro couldn’t help but find it alluring. 

“More than,” Goro said, and gently bounced his leg on Akira’s thigh, “Now make me coffee.”

Akira’s shyness evaporated at the brattish order, and he rolled his eyes as he pushed Goro’s legs off his lap to stand up, “Yes,  _ princess.” _

Goro huffed out an amused noise at the jibe, watching Akira collect their empty bowls and moving to the kitchen. He’d turned himself into quite the househusband, hasn’t he? Not that Goro was complaining… 

His attention deviated to the television, and he scowled when Shido’s face took up the screen. He was being questioned on how he felt about one of his main donors, Okumura Foods, being taken to court for allegations of employee abuse. Shido, of course, was full of sympathy and mortification that he hadn’t heard of these crimes until they had become public and that, obviously, his party would  _ immediately _ pull away from Okumura Foods and denounce the CEO as a result. 

Hmm, explained Shido’s aggravation with the man, then. As well as planning to oppose him politically, Okumura had also publicly humiliated Shido with his scandals. 

Goro picked up the remote and changed the channel. Looking at Shido’s face made him nauseous. 

_ less than two weeks to kill okumura, _ Goro thought dully,  _ what a pain.  _

No matter. That was a problem for  _ tomorrow. _

* * *

Akira left sometime around the late afternoon to collect an overnight bag - and no doubt ensuring Mona was looked after while he was  _ busy _ . This left Goro by himself for a few hours, a fact he found himself increasingly disturbed by when the empty silence of his apartment gained a  _ threatening _ edge to it. 

It was difficult to explain. Akira’s presence had been warm and distracting - he was always bustling about, always touching him, an anchor, his eyes warm yet intense. Now his absence was felt keenly, and Goro found himself anxiously tidying his bedroom up in anticipation for later, if only to keep his hands busy. 

Inevitably, his mind began chewing over his anxieties. 

_ perhaps i can bribe futaba to hack the door, _ he thought as he changed the bedsheets. The previous ones were Featherman R, not exactly a moodsetter, so he switched them out for a more conservative black and white affair. 

**_and when okumura turns up dead_ **

**_she will remember that_ **

Right. Futaba was very perceptive…

**_the okumura girl_ **

**_is all you need_ **

Haru? Goro frowned, smoothing out the creases in his duvet. 

**_she is new_ **

**_her bond to the others_ **

**_are weak_ **

Goro’s hands slowed their movements. 

**_her fears for her father_ **

**_are obvious_ **

**_to enter on her own_ **

**_is a possible scenario_ **

**_none would question_ **

_ but she wouldn’t, _ Goro thought,  _ she has enough sense not to… _

**_do the others know that?_ **

Do the others know that?

Goro abruptly felt very cold and clammy, his fingers curling into the duvet as that awful, sickening pressure leaned heavily on his mind. It was a voice without a voice, his own thoughts writhing into poisoned barbs that spoke with their own words, as precise and cutting as a scalpel to the brainstem. It was his own voice, warped and whisper-soft and purring; 

**_lure her in_ **

**_take her there_ **

**_and then-_ **

_ “No,” _ Goro said, “Out of the question.”

**_you are too soft_ **

**_she is an okumura_ **

**_born from the same rotten fruit_ **

_ “She isn’t her father,” _ he snarled, “I won’t kill-” 

Wait.

_ who am i talking to? _

Goro bolted upright in alarm. His bedroom was quiet, except for the muffled nightlife outside of his window, of passing traffic and the chatter of people. He scanned his immediate surroundings but… there was nothing. It was just him. Alone. Going crazy, apparently.

“...this is… getting worrying,” he admitted quietly to himself. He hadn’t even realised anything strange. He just spoke to that… delusion without batting an eye. It was a delusion, right? It had to be. It was just an auditory hallucination brought on by stress and exhaustion. Nothing to worry about. Easily fixed with sleep and resolving his Okumura Problem. 

Goro sharply shook his head and picked up his Featherman R bedsheets, dumping them into the laundry basket and tucking that inside of his closet, out of view.

But the idea the- the delusion raised dogged him. That was the perfect solution to his problem. If he lured Haru in there, by herself, she would open the way for him. He could then kill her (the sole witness), then kill Okumura, and her death would be explained by her moving to confront her father by herself - only for it to go tragically wrong. Nothing suspicious about it. No one would ever figure out who Black Mask could potentially be from that. Black Mask might not even be suspected  _ at all _ in Okumura's death.

It was a perfect solution. 

Goro wished he could unthink it. 

“I’m not doing that,” he muttered to himself, “I am  _ not.” _

But wasn’t that strange? Before he would have done it without much thought, if it was necessary. Who cared about some rich girl whose father was a literal monster? Goro’s purpose was worth such collateral - or so he told himself. Now,  _ now… _ he couldn’t- he wouldn’t-

**_(you are too soft)_ **

“Shut up,” Goro hissed, and, like with every emotional upheaval he experienced, promptly buried the idea into the deepest, darkest part of his mind never to be thought of again.

* * *

Goro pretty much willed himself back to normality when Akira returned two hours later. 

In that time Goro had completely gutted out his apartment - the vacuum cleaner really drowned out one’s internal thoughts, who knew? - and Akira’s expression was downright comical as he took in the immaculate state of the apartment while taking off his shoes. 

“Uh, did you get bit by the cleaning bug?” Akira joked weakly. 

Goro just shrugged, pretending like this was utterly normal. Akira gave him a suspicious look, but didn’t pursue the subject. Not even Akira could make a mountain out of Goro deciding to clean his apartment on a Sunday evening. 

“So,” Akira started, clutching his overnight bag to his chest as he loitered by the front door like a weirdo, “How do you want to… I mean…”

Goro sighed fondly and reached out, curling his fingers around Akira’s wrist. He gave it a tug, patiently leading him through his apartment and to his bedroom, even though Akira had been here so often he could navigate the place with his eyes closed. He could feel his pulse flutter against his fingertips - it was rabbit fast. 

“You’re overthinking it,” he said as they stepped into his bedroom. He let go of Akira to pointedly shut the door.

“I am not,” Akira huffed, his gaze landing on the bed. He frowned, “What happened to your Featherman covers?”

“It’s not exactly a  _ moodsetter, _ Kurusu,” Goro drawled. 

“I dunno... “ Akira started to smile, “Grey Pigeon gets me all hot and bothered-”

Goro rolled his eyes and punched his arm, unable to stop a smile when Akira laughed at him. 

“Aw, don’t be  _ jealous~” _

“You know, I have a very comfortable  _ sofa _ out in the living room, if that’s where you want to spend the night instead.”

“I’ll be good,” Akira quickly said.

“That remains to be seen,” Goro muttered with little heat. 

The ice was broken with that. They both went through their own little routines preparing for bed, easily moving around each other in the bathroom and bedroom. The time was just a little before nine o’clock when they both climbed into bed, where the mood - shifted. Goro lay on his side, propped up on his elbow, as he shamelessly watched Akira lie on his back and contemplate the ceiling. 

They were both dressed - Akira in his baggy grey bottoms and long-sleeved shirt, while Goro was a little risquer in his shorts and t-shirt - so it eased the pressure of the moment somewhat. Goro was patient, though. He knew the first time was always nerve-wracking. 

“So,” Akira started, his expression nervous as he finally glanced at him. 

“So,” Goro echoed playfully. 

“...do I get a goodnight kiss or what?”

Goro huffed, amused that Akira went with  _ that. _ Not so smooth when it came to seduction, was he? It was endearing, though, so Goro took it as the invitation it was, slowly pushing back the duvet to make room as he rolled on top of Akira. He pressed him down against the bed with his body, smirking when Akira’s breathing audibly hitched, his eyes wide and dark. His face really was expressive without those troublesome glasses in the way. 

"Goodnight, Kurusu," he said mockingly, and kissed Akira chastely on the forehead.

The noise Akira made was  _ indescribable. _

"Mm?" Goro pulled away, cocking his head to the side with a grin, "Something wrong?"

"You are such a cheeky  _ brat," _ Akira breathed, his cheeks a wonderful hue of  _ pink. _

Goro's gaze became heavy-lidded, predatory, "Being called 'brat' isn't very seductive."

Akira's hand cupped the back of his head, his fingers curling into his soft hair and clenching hard enough to  _ feel _ it. Goro’s pulse spiked at the restrictive hold, a short, breathless noise leaving him, not breaking the intense stare Akira had ensnared him in.

"You like that, don't you?" Akira murmured mostly to himself, his eyes alight with pleasant discovery, "Having your hair pulled."

Goro neither confirmed nor denied. He merely said; "Just kiss me, idiot."

"You do," Akira said smugly, like a  _ brat, _ and pulled him in close.

It was a lot smoother this time, better than the first kiss they shared on his sofa. Akira was a quick study. Goro hummed into the kiss, pleased at this discovery. 

But it was still a little too chaste for his tastes. Akira was being uncharacteristically cautious, not quite harbouring the reckless curiosity of Joker. Goro waited him out, slowly sinking his body lower until most of his weight was pressing down on the other, their legs entangled and Akira’s hand loosening its grip to gently stroke his hair. It wasn’t the heated passion Goro had anticipated - that was always easy and straightforward. This was just… nice. Comfortable. Domestic, almost.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. 

_ he’s being gentle with me, _ Goro realised, breaking off the kiss and ignoring Akira’s questioning noise to shift down slightly, kissing at his neck instead,  _ he’s so strange.  _

But it wasn’t unwelcomed. Goro had to admit there was a guilty sort of pleasure at being handled so softly, not that he would ever admit it. He wanted to both recoil from and sink into it, soak up Akira’s carefully given affection even though he didn’t deserve it in the slightest. Was it normal, to feel a conflicting churn of shame and delight like this? His heart felt like it was going to burst in his chest from the weight of it all.

_ stop thinking, _ he told himself, letting Akira pull him back up for another kiss, the fingers tightening their hold in his hair,  _ focus on this, just this.  _

“I can hear you thinking,” Akira murmured against his mouth.

“Really,” Goro pulled back, Akira’s grip loosening in his hair to allow the movement, “Then what am I thinking?”

Akira studied him. His eyes were dark, pleasantly so, and his mouth kiss-swollen, a faint flush on his cheeks. It was a sight that had heat clenching low in his belly, Goro taking a quick mental snapshot to tuck away for  _ later.  _

“Hell if I know,” Akira finally admitted, “Your mind’s an enigma.”

It was such an unexpected response. Goro let out an undignified snort, a short, little barking laugh that had Akira grinning as well, and that creeping tension that had built up in the background dissipated. 

“I always feel like you see right through me,” Goro murmured, relaxed enough to let such a thing slip. He grasped a lock of Akira’s dark hair between his forefinger and thumb, playing with it, “That’s why…”

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” Goro finished wryly, “It’s nothing.”

Akira frowned - no good - so Goro leaned in and kissed him on the corner of his mouth to distract him. It worked. The frown melted away, and Goro pushed things a little further, kissing him full on the mouth and deepening it with a low, pleased rumble that had Akira gasping. Akira’s fingers twitched in his hair, his other hand resting against the small of his back, fisting into his t-shirt - Goro hummed. 

Better. 

He pushed things a little further again. He shifted, enough to slot their bodies more comfortably together, starting a slow, lazy rut. Akira made a  _ noise, _ caught right in the back of his throat and muffled into the kiss - Goro greedily swallowed it. Felt Akira arch up against him, his knees bending to squeeze Goro’s hips with his thighs and his hands grasping at the back of his t-shirt. 

_ Better. _

Goro laughed breathlessly as he pulled away from the kiss, his bottom lip feeling bruised. Akira had started getting enthusiastic there, “Enjoying yourself, Kurusu?”

Akira took a moment to answer, looking thoroughly dazed. His pupils were blown, his lips parted as he breathed heavily, his hips matching the relentless yet slow pace Goro was setting. Just when Goro was about to prompt him again, Akira rasped, his voice  _ delightfully _ husky; “Y-Yeah.” 

“Good,” Goro murmured, genuinely pleased. He wanted this to be mutually beneficial. 

He grasped Akira’s thigh, pulling enough to tilt his hips just a  _ fraction _ to the left, and grinned when Akira’s breathing audibly stuttered from the new angle. It was absolutely  _ amazing _ how skullfucked Akira looked - just from a little bit of  _ stimulation. _ That inscrutable, stoic mask was crumbling, giving Goro glimpses of a dark-eyed hunger and  _ want _ that was far more predictable. 

“W-What’s with that,  _ nh... _ smug look?” Akira grumbled, a bit of clarity coming back to him. 

“What smug look?” Goro asked  _ smugly, _ baring his teeth in a feral smile. 

Akira’s eyes flashed competitively - Joker - and Goro realised his mistake a second too slow. With a powerful twist of his hips and simple physics, Akira flipped them over in a tangle of limbs, Goro yelping out a startled curse as  _ he _ ended up pressed down against the mattress with a smirking Akira looming over him, nestled comfortably between his spread legs and looking oh so pleased with himself. 

“You  _ brat,” _ Goro hissed, embarrassed that he got caught out so badly.

“It’s not my fault you got complacent,” Akira said impishly, his grey eyes glittering with poorly suppressed glee, “I mean, I might be a virgin, but I’m no pillow queen either.”

“The hell’s a pillow  _ qu-mmph.” _

Akira cut off his question with a searing kiss. Goro grumbled into it, but let it happen, snaking his arms around Akira’s shoulders to yank him closer. Roughly, Akira began rutting against him, the hardness of his arousal grinding  _ right down _ on Goro’s, harsh but  _ good, _ and  _ damn it, _ Akira was too good of a fast learner-!

“E-Enjoying yourself… Akechi?” Akira panted against his mouth. Goro could feel his smile.

“Fuck you,” Goro growled breathlessly, shuddering when Akira grasped his hip, forcing him up  _ closer _ until there was barely any space between them. Goro felt his breathing start to edge, a tremor crawling up his spine as his thighs instinctively clenched around Akira’s hips. 

Shit. It’d been so long since he did anything like this, jerking off included, that he was already close. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the swell of pleasure as Akira nosed at his exposed throat, his warm breaths fanning over his fluttering pulsepoint. A noise cracked out of him, raw and obscene, when Akira's hand fisted into his hair, forcing his chin to tilt up that little bit more - Akira inhaled sharply at his needy moan.

Goro  _ scrambled _ ; he pressed his hand against the back of Akira’s head, keeping it tucked into the crook of his neck, mortified at the idea of him seeing his face like this. He bit the inside of his cheek to stem any embarrassing noises, his thighs clenching, clenching,  _ clenching _ around Akira’s slim hips, hard enough that Akira cursed hoarsely against his throat, his hand frantically grasping at Goro’s hip, fingers digging into the meat of his ass- 

He came with a strangled, choked back moan, muffling the sound in Akira’s hair, feeling himself jerk and shiver against the firm body pressing down on him. His mind went blank, every nerve lighting up with pleasure, and he- he really-

God.

He  _ really _ fucking  _ needed _ that. 

“Fuck,” he rasped, his orgasm ebbing into something more loose-limbed and warm. He was sticky and wet in a very awkward place, but  _ god _ did he  _ need _ that. He was quickly nudged out of his daze by Akira, though, who was needily rutting against him, chasing his own release. Goro twitched in discomfort. 

“Mn, hold- hold on, Ak- Kurusu,” he panted, tugging roughly at Akira’s hair.

Akira made a low, whining noise, but he pulled away, flushed and sweat-damped, his bottom lip plump from where he’d bitten it. Goro curled his fingers into his sleep shirt before he pulled  _ completely _ away, and nudged him so they were both sprawled on their sides facing each other. 

“Akechi, what-”

“Shh,” Goro murmured, his mood suitably mellow as he reached between them, pushing Akira’s waistband down to claim his prize. Akira’s arousal was warm and damp against his palm, and he kept his gaze fixated on Akira’s face as he briskly jerked him off. 

Unlike him, Akira didn’t hide away or muffle his voice. His kiss-bruised lips parted, breathless moans leaving him as his eyes fluttered shut. It was a picture of absolute pleasure, and Goro hungrily drank it up, giving his wrist a bit of a twist. Akira’s entire body jolted, a soft, needy cry leaving him. Goro smiled. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, “C’mon, Kurusu, c’mon- ah.”

It happened so quickly, Akira only managed to let out a highly amusing, gasping whine before he spilled his release over Goro’s hand. Akira’s face was flushed, a bead of sweat rolling down from his temple as he trembled from his orgasm. Goro memorised every millimeter of that tempting sight, stroking him until Akira’s hips started flinching from his touch. 

“Oh my god,” Akira groaned, his pupils blown as he blinked dazedly at Goro, who wiped his hand clean on his sleep shirt, “That was- wait, did you just… wipe your hand on me?”

“It’s your sperm,” Goro said pointedly, “And you came all over your shirt anyways.” 

“Oh my  _ god,” _ Akira said again, but with a vastly different tone. 

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Goro muttered, rolling onto his back and stretching languidly. His muscles felt like water, too lax and sated to do anything strenuous. He eyed the distance between his bed and the door tiredly. 

“Yeah, we should clean up…” Akira said, sitting up and plucking at his shirt, frowning at the wet smear Goro’s hand had left, “Seriously, though. On my  _ shirt?” _

Goro shifted his heavy-lidded stare from the door to Akira, giving him a brattish smile, “Were you hoping I’d  _ lick _ my hand clean, Kurusu?”

As expected, Akira spluttered and flushed  _ pink. _

“N-No! I mean…” Akira looked shifty, and quickly changed the subject, “Uhm, so, bathroom?”

“Too tired,” Goro admitted, and made a face when he shifted, the inside of his boxers sticking uncomfortably to him. “Ugh.”

“I’ll get us a towel,” Akira said, proving he actually was a saint, “Uh, where do you keep your underwear?”

“Top drawer, there,” Goro waved his hand vaguely towards his dresser, and watched sleepily as Akira got up and did his bidding. 

It left him a few precious minutes to mull over what just happened. He felt suitably relaxed and calm, his eyelids heavy with fatigue without that biting edge of anxiety just keeping sleep out of reach. His muscles were lax, bereft of the tension that had them coiled up tight with anticipation for what felt like years, and he stifled a yawn as he lazily squirmed out of his messy boxers and kicked them off the bed. 

He should’ve done this sooner. 

Akira returned and huffed at seeing him lying half naked on his own bed. He threw the wet towel at him, where the horribly cold thing landed right across his lap with cruel precision. Goro  _ yelped. _

“Oops,” Akira said insincerely. 

“I should banish you to the sofa,” Goro grumbled, briskly cleaning himself up and accepting the clean pair of underwear Akira handed him. He gave him a curious look, eyeing Akira’s now bare chest, “You didn’t pack a spare sleep shirt?”

“Uh, no, I thought we’d be…” Akira looked embarrassed, “Naked when we’d… yeah.” 

“Hmm,” Goro pointed at his closet, “I have spare t-shirts. Grab whatever.”

Akira looked oddly bashful about this, but he went to raid Goro’s closet for one of his t-shirts. He chose the Grey Pigeon one, because of course he did, and soon they were bundled back into bed, the used towel on the floor to be dealt with in the morning. Goro stayed sprawled out on his back, barely able to keep his eyes open, while Akira lurked just within his personal space, like he wanted to shift closer but was unsure if he had permission too. 

“I’m not going to bite you,” Goro said, his eyes closed, “Stop hovering, it’s annoying me.” 

“Sorry,” Akira mumbled, but he scooted closer, resting an arm over Goro’s stomach and pressing his cheek against his shoulder. 

Goro normally detested people in his personal space, touching him, crowding him, but as always Akira was different. Not to say he was entirely comfortable - this position was too… intimate for him to completely relax - but he was so fucking tired he couldn’t muster the capacity to care. He just huffed quietly, and let sleep overtake him. 

* * *

Because the universe hated him, Goro immediately had a nightmare. 

It was an unnervingly lucid nightmare. He was in Okumura’s Palace, alone, but there was something not right about it. The space station was inert, cold and dark, the robot Shadows slumped over and frozen like depressed mannequins. His steps echoed too loudly as he walked through the Palace, eventually ending up in front of those fucking biometric doors. Its surface was pitted and scoured, like something had clawed at it like a maddened beast. 

Strange. Those had been gone when the Phantom Thieves came round. 

Goro curiously walked up to the door, reaching out - and pausing when he saw the black claws of his Black Mask outfit. He reached up but felt no mask - which meant Loki was out and about. 

Something creaked in the very close distance. 

This was a dream. Goro knew it was a dream. But still, a sense of dread started creeping up on him. He stared at the biometric doors, trying to divine the meaning. They were a source of his anxieties, these doors, but that didn’t mean he wanted to stare at them in his sleep either. A bubble of irritation surged up in him, and he turned away from them- 

-only to hear the doors slide open behind him. 

He froze. 

Every instinct in his body seized in alarm, his muscles locking up, pinning him in place. He had no explanation for why he was suddenly afraid, but he  _ was, _ and behind him, something  _ creaked, _ low, like bending metal but also not, an alien, inhuman noise that was as piercing as a skeletal finger stabbing into his grey matter. 

Something was behind him. 

_ don’t look _

**_you are conflicted_ **

the voice murmured, right into his ear. 

Goro didn’t move. He knew if he turned his head a little to the left, he would see it. But he didn’t want to see it. His mind shrank from the knowledge of it, a faint, flash of a memory from the days of Wakaba, buried deep in the recesses of his heart to never be thought of again. It stayed where Loki thrived, where Loki hid. 

**_have you forgotten_ **

**_how vile humans are?_ **

said the voice, against his nape, the hot breath of a predator with fangs bared.

**_why do you continue_ **

**_in this pointless hope?_ **

**_the thieves will betray you_ **

**_shido is your sole purpose_ **

Goro's hands slowly curled into fists, mustering a courage born from terrified fury. Through gritted teeth, he snarled; “Enough. I’ve made my decision. The thieves are mine. They will not betray me.”

**_is that so_ **

“Yes,” Goro said. 

_ no! you shouldn’t _

**_lie_ **

“I’m not lying-”

_ stop _

**_lying_ **

**_to yourself?_ **

The cold darkness of the empty Palace crowded him, suffocated him. The inert robots were all staring at him, their eyes gleaming gold, while that awful, poisonous presence loomed over him like a sword of damocles. Goro’s breaths puffed out as frantic clouds of white in the chill, trembling right to his very bone marrow as the voice snarled; 

**_THAT BREACHES OUR CONTRACT_ **

Goro turned his head and looked. 

His mind immediately locked and stalled the moment he saw  _ it, _ the dream disintegrating into a violent explosion of glass - golden eyes glaring at him in the vanishing void, twinkling like malevolent stars - and then he was awake, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, cold and clammy and panting like a hunted beast. 

Akira was asleep next to him, oblivious and warm, and Goro subconsciously shifted closer to him, his gaze darting about his cold, empty bedroom with fearful paranoia. His heart thrummed in his throat, but his heart was also aching, a nauseous pull against his heartstrings like something had just ripped free and was rattling about inside his ribcage like a ricocheting bullet. 

Goro breathed - shuddering, shaking gasps that almost choked him. 

Somehow, he knew that dream hadn’t been a hallucination. 

* * *

Morning came early, Akira’s alarm trilling in time for school. Goro hadn’t slept a wink since his… dream, nightmare,  _ whatever the fuck that had been, _ but pretended to be out of it as Akira stealthily got out of bed and quietly went about his morning routine. A childish part of him wanted Akira to stay, to not leave him alone in his quiet, definitely fucking haunted apartment, but his pride kept him quiet. 

“Akechi,” Akira whispered to him once he had finished preparing for school, “I’m off now, okay?”

Goro kept his face pressed into the pillow, curled up in the lingering warmth Akira’s body heat left. He debated pretending to be asleep, but finally gave in with an incoherent murmur of acknowledgement. Akira let out a small huff of fond amusement, and he felt his fingers curl into his hair, gently stroking it. 

“Try not to sleep through your alarm,” Akira told him, and with one final stroke, left him alone. Goro opened his eyes, staring unseeingly as he heard him walk through his apartment and open the front door, closing it behind him. The sound of it shutting felt… final.

Goro bolted upright the moment he was alone and fumbled for his phone. With shaking fingers, he tapped the glaring crimson eye, activating the app and inhaled; “Akechi-”

He stopped. 

Something stopped him, made his throat close up and voice strangle. He stared at his phone, half of his name already filled into the search criteria, and found himself… incapable. Not due to any supernatural cause, but because he was- afraid to know. Persona users can’t have Palaces, but last night… the past fucking  _ week, _ he… that wasn’t  _ normal, _ and his awakening had been… unique. Distorted.  _ Unnatural. _ So, there might be a possibility that he… he was...

“Akechi…” he tried again, his voice weaker, and again, his voice strangled. 

He couldn’t do it. He tried but his voice… it wouldn’t work... 

He closed the app and flopped back down on his bed, staring up at his ceiling in exhaustion. He watched the thin strip of sunlight peeking between his curtains creep a slow path along it, marking the rise of dawn and the start of the day, where Goro will have to slap on a mask and pretend to be a perfect model student, the Detective Prince, a Phantom Thief, a cold assassin… 

_ i’m tired of all these masks, _ he thought dully,  _ they’re trapping me in this selfmade hell of mine. _

A flush of dizziness swept through him, but it went as quickly as it came and Goro shrugged it off as exhaustion, slowly sitting up. If he was awake, he may as well get ready for school now. He had a lot of work to do to make himself presentable to the world… 

Still, he couldn’t shake off that strangling sensation of fear dogging his steps, growing and growing with every breath he took. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	21. AKIRA XI: Borderlines

It doesn’t really hit Akira until he’s sitting in class Monday morning.

There’s a growing feeling in his chest that is growing harder and harder to ignore. It’s terrifying in intensity and makes him simultaneously feel as if he’s going to sprout wings like some summation of a miracle, or alternatively be sick all over his clothes. Somehow things were easier before, when he’d been nothing but a base equation of almost childish fantasies and a longing so great it ached with lasting vigor. Now that he and Akechi were dating, things were suddenly terrifyingly _real_ , which meant that he could ultimately fuck things up and ruin things irreversibly forever.

And well, for as much as Akira cared about him, Akechi was and always would be... _complicated_.

The thing was, Akira had to try to be Akechi’s fundamental support system. The person who Akechi could depend on no matter what, since clearly he wasn’t exactly going out and talking to anyone about himself. And Akira _wanted_ to be that person for him, but Akechi obviously had deep-seated issues that he hadn’t even talked to _him_ about, and Akira could only make assumptions through the sheer power of observation. Relationships were supposed to be based on trust, or at least that’s what he’d thought, and yet the fear still lingered in the root of his being that he’d bring up a topic that was a little too sensitive and he’d spontaneously ruin the one thing he wanted so desperately to hold onto.

In the past few months, Akira had pictured the moment he’d get together with Akechi over a dozen times. Sometimes it was well planned on Akira’s part- he’d flawlessly confess all of his feelings and Akechi would admit that he’d been feeling the same, or at the very least that he’d be willing to try starting a relationship. Other times, Akira imagined it would be something purely spontaneous- similar to how it actually ended up happening, only with things significantly _changing_ between them after the fact.

For every variation of every fantasy, there was one thing they had in common- and that was that somehow things would just...fall into place. Akechi would finally open up to him and tell him all the secrets of his heart, and Akira would be there for him no matter what.

Yet it’d been almost a full week since they’d gotten together and still Akira felt no closer to cracking the mystery that was _Akechi Goro_ than he’d been before they started dating. Instead it only felt like he was drawing borderlines deeper into the pit of sand between them, terrified of compromising the trust that was keeping the tether bound on their new relationship.

He looks down at his notebook where he’d been writing a small and barely decipherable list of concerns he still had about Akechi. Category one consisted of reasons he could be the Black Mask. Category two was what little information he had on Akechi’s relationship with his still unnamed father. The third category sits empty of a title, and Akira closes the notebook before he can fill it in.

And so it’s while he’s sitting in class- with Kawakami’s lecture having long faded into the backdrop- that Akira comes to the conclusion that he has no idea what he’s doing.

***

It’s not until Tuesday night that Akira decides to try to make plans to see Akechi again.

Not that Akira hadn’t wanted to see him- honestly if he had it his way he’d move into Akechi’s apartment so that he could make sure he was eating and taking care of himself. Of course, he had a feeling that Akechi wouldn’t be all that keen on that particular idea. After all, they’d only been dating for about a week and there was probably a standard timeframe that a person was supposed to abide by before deciding to move themselves into their boyfriend’s apartment. Never mind the fact that Akira knew he could be a _very_ good househusband, and in his very humble opinion he’d been working well to make quite a good case of that. His eggs were becoming _legendary_ , enough to make any chef cry, he’s sure.

But the fact of the matter was that he’d been trying his best not to...crowd Akechi too much. So, although they texted back and forth everyday as they pretty much had been for a while, Akira was doing his best to give Akechi a little bit of breathing room. Akechi was already busy enough with school, TV appearances, and his detective job as it was, and Akira didn’t want to become yet another appointment in his daily planner.

Which is why he decides it might be best for Akechi himself to choose when they’d next see each other. Akira just needed to think of a date idea, and then he’d have Akechi choose the time. It was a foolproof plan, really. And a normal date might help to push their relationship a little closer to normalcy. Not that Akira really had any prior experience in dating, but he’s pretty sure the beginning stages were supposed to involve more...dates and less frottage. He wasn’t complaining of course, but it would maybe be nice to have a mixture of both.

So that’s why, while walking home Tuesday night after spending time helping Ohya, Akira finds himself stopping in front of the Shinjuku movie theater. In a way it’s like a beacon, glowing in the middle of the street with its _Now Playing_ sign lit up in bold black letters above the entrance. It’s playing _The Duhvengers,_ some popular superhero movie that Akechi would probably like. Akira could bring him out here one day after school, when the streets weren’t so crowded with the typical Shinjuku nightlife. They could sit in the back row, share a bowl of popcorn, and after that was done they could maybe even hold hands. Akira’s well aware of how juvenile it sounds, but he can’t help but want it.

“You’re not thinking of seeing a movie _now_ are you?” Morgana asks, finally returning to him from wherever it was he’d gone while Akira had been spending time in the Crossroads bar. “It’s getting late,” he adds once Akira picks him up off the street so that he can return to his rightful place over Akira’s shoulder.

“No, not right now,” Akira answers him, reaching back to scratch his head once he’s situated.

“Good, we can come back here later,” Morgana says, purring contentedly at the attention. When Akira repockets his hands and begins walking towards the station, Morgana keeps his paws perched on his shoulder. "By the way, how’d your meeting with that reporter go?”

“I couldn’t get anything from her this time,” Akira admits. “She just got drunk and complained about her day. I do think I got a little closer to her though, so she’ll probably be more willing to talk next time.”

And once he managed to help her with whatever her issue was, then she’d be a good ally to have in the media. She’d already written a few positive articles on the Phantom Thieves, which Akira figured would probably be useful in the long run- considering how fickle people’s opinions regarding them seemed to be.

Still, Morgana doesn’t seem all that convinced, judging by his doubtful tone when he says: “If you say so.”

Akira was good at time management though, he’d gotten better after his little...incident with the twins and according to Igor his bonds were steadily improving. Of course, as it were, his relationships with people outside his immediate friend group were mutually beneficial arrangements- if he helped them, they would help him in return. So while it was still tiring to have to help so many people, it was necessary in the end.

 _Kind of a fucked up way to think about people who are depending on you,_ he thinks to himself sardonically as he continues to walk.

It’s only once he’s at the station waiting for the train to arrive that he finally pulls out his phone and decides to message Akechi.

_**[2147] Me:** we should watch a movie together sometime._

Akechi’s reply is almost immediate, and Akira finds himself staring down at his response in surprise.

_**[2147] Akechi:** I’m free at the moment._

_**[2147] Me:** you wanna watch one tonight?_

_**[2148] Akechi:** Is that a problem?_

_**[2148] Me:** no of course not. It’s just kind of late…_

_**[2148] Me:** aren’t you tired?_

_**[2149] Akechi:** I’m not tired at all._

_**[2149] Me:** if you’re sure?_

_**[2149] Akechi:** I am. I can head over to Leblanc now._

_**[2149] Akechi:** I’ve been in the mood for coffee that isn’t instant._

_**[2150] Me:** i’m on my way back now so I can meet you there in like 30 min?_

_**[2151] Akechi:** That’s fine._

As soon as Akechi confirms their date, Akira switches over to his message chain with Futaba.

_**[2152] Me:** i’m dropping Morgana off and please make sure you turn off any bugs you have in Leblanc._

It wasn’t as if he was expecting anything sexual to happen. If anything he was kind of looking forward to a romantic...or at the very least nice and casual date with Akechi. While it wasn’t exactly the two of them going to a movie theater as he’d expected, there was definitely something domestic about watching a movie together in his room.

He just...didn’t exactly want Futaba to witness any of that. It was private.

_**[2153] Futaba:** eww gross_

_**[2153] Futaba:** but also i bet i can get a lot of money for an akechi goro sex tape_

Really it makes sense that she’d come to the conclusion that they’d be fucking. After all, all of Akira’s friends were assholes who took absolutely no pity on him.

Of course, Akira also knows that trying to defend his intentions would be a losing battle, so he decides to just roll with it.

_**[2154] Me:** try it and you’ll never see your special edition Red Hawk figure again._

_**[2154] Futaba:** you wouldn’t dare_

_**[2155] Me:** try me._

_**[2156] Futaba:** yeah yeah fine. it wouldn’t be worth the mental scarring anyway_

_**[2156] Futaba:** tell mona he can come in through the side window, i’m not getting the door_

Shortly after that last response, the train finally pulls into the station, and Akira pockets his phone in preparation to board. Morgana drops back down to hide in his bag for the ride, his paws vanishing from his shoulder without having said a thing.

***

Akira doesn’t say anything until they’re off the train and on the backstreets of Yongen Jaya. It’s a fair bit darker than usual, the stars in the night sky blocked out by clouds warning of incoming rain. Morgana, meanwhile, hasn’t said a word during their entire trip back, which was unusual, especially since Futaba’s message had directly mentioned him.

“You’re being quiet,” Akira finally says, glancing at Morgana who’s once again perched on his shoulder, his blue-eyed gaze focused on the street ahead. “You’re not upset about being left with Futaba, are you?”

Morgana scrunches his nose up. “No that’s not it, well at least not entirely.” Finally turning towards Akira, he gives him a long piercing look. “It’s just...I know you’re dating Akechi now or whatever, but Joker, you can’t forget that he could be the Black Mask.”

Akira barely resists the urge to sigh.

“This again, Mona?”

He was quite honestly getting tired of this. The more time went on it seemed as if Morgana was less willing to let it go, as if nothing Akira had to say in Akechi’s defense mattered at all to him.

“Just listen,” Morgana says, sounding more serious than usual which grabs Akira’s attention. “Would you really be okay staying with him even if he kills people?”

Akira can only stare at him for a moment, his words taking a moment to process. He opens his mouth to answer, only to find that he’s not really sure what to say to that, and so he frowns up at the dark cloudy sky in thought as he continues to walk.

“He wouldn’t kill people willingly,” Akira settles on replying eventually. “He wouldn’t…do that.”

He knows it’s a non-answer, and although he doesn’t look at Morgana as he says it, he can feel the pitying look he’s giving him.

“For your sake, I don’t like thinking that he would either,” Morgana responds, his tone gentle. “But it’s something we need to consider.”

Lowering his gaze to the ground, Akira wraps his jacket a little tighter around himself.

“Please just…drop it, Mona,” he pleads quietly.

Morgana releases a small huff of air, the feline equivalent of a sigh.

“...You can’t avoid this forever, Joker,” he tells him. “You know as well as I do that something isn’t right.” With that he climbs fully out of the bag and onto Akira’s shoulder, before jumping down onto the street below. “I can make it the rest of the way myself,” Mona says, looking at him from over his shoulder, before bounding forward towards Sojiro’s house.

Akira watches him vanish around the corner just as the first drops of rain begin to fall.

***

In the time that followed Morgana leaving and Akechi walking through the door to Leblanc, Akira had done his best to clear his head. It’s not as if Morgana has presented him with anything he didn’t already know, and this was supposed to be his first formal _date_. He wasn’t about to let anything ruin that for him. Morgana had been bringing the same thing up for weeks now, so this time shouldn’t be any different. And it _wasn’t_.

Akira was going to spend a nice perfectly normal date with his new boyfriend who he cared about very much, and he’d file everything else away in that special little part of his brain specifically called: _For Later._

Not even everything he had stored in there was necessarily _bad_ \- such as the far too many wet dreams that he’d had about Akechi which he had yet to fully analyze. They were more so...a lot to deal with, so he avoided looking at them too closely.

Some people might call this avoiding his problems, but that was only if he considered everything he had stored in there to _be_ a problem. Akira was still operating under the basis that his entire life was one big problem sprinkled with a few things that he found to be fundamentally good. So in that way- he simply considered himself an optimist. Or...something.

...In truth, Akechi might just be the best thing to have ever happened to him, and he wasn’t about to have any of his newfound happiness ruined for him. Even if their relationship did start out a little unconventionally.

That’s why when Akira hears the door downstairs open, signaling Akechi’s arrival, Akira is busying himself by cleaning every available surface in his attic bedroom. After all, if Akechi had done all of that cleaning of his own apartment last time, then obviously Akira couldn’t be shown up. His mind tries to remind him that excessive cleaning was probably a sign of nerves, but he and his brain weren’t on speaking terms at the moment and so that argument was invalid.

Still, at the sound of the door, Akira shoves his feather duster back behind some boxes and quickly goes downstairs to greet his boyfriend.

The first thing Akira notices is that Akechi’s in his Black Condor hoodie and sweats, his hood pulled up and a bag thrown over his shoulder. The second thing he notices, is well...

“You’re wet,” Akira says blankly, blinking in surprise as Akechi looks as if he just had a bad run-in with a swimming pool.

“Thank you for your astute observation, Kurusu,” Akechi says, ripping off his hood and revealing that it seemed to have protected his hair from any water damage. “I wasn’t aware we were in for a downpour, but apparently the sky had other plans.”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Akira wonders if he was supposed to have greeted Akechi with a kiss. That seemed to be a thing that couples did, but then again Akechi had already been inside by the time he got downstairs so it seemed like it had been too late and now it was probably really too late for him to go for it without it seeming awkward…Shit, he really should have gotten that book on relationships he’d seen last time he went to the bookstore.

“I’ve already accepted that any gods up there are assholes,” Akira quips, hiding all evidence of his latest bout of internalized panic.

“Personal vendetta?” Akechi asks him with a raised brow.

“A few.” Akira shrugs, taking a moment to really inspect Akechi. Now that his hood was down, Akira could really notice the dark circles under his eyes and the clear exhaustion lining his features. He looked dead on his feet. “But um, are you sure you’re not too tired for this?”

Akechi doesn’t say anything at first, but while Akira continues inspecting him in an attempt to figure out why he was so willing to have a late movie night if it looked like he should want to go to bed early, Akechi takes the opportunity to cross the small distance between them. Placing his hands on Akira’s shoulders, Akechi leans in and kisses him lightly. Before Akira can even get his head to function enough to respond, Akechi is already pulling back just enough to speak, his breath ghosting across his lips.

“You worry too much, Kurusu,” he purrs, moving to press another teasing kiss against the corner of Akira’s mouth. “It’s been a long day, that’s all.”

“Did you uh, want to go get changed then?” Akira asks, reminded of Akechi’s current state by the water that was now dampening his own clothes. Remembering what Akechi had said in his message earlier he adds, “I can get your coffee ready and bring it up.”

Akechi blinks at him as if confused for a moment before his expression straightens out. “Don’t worry about the coffee, it’s already getting late. I’ll take you up on that another time.” He pats his cheek and strides past him towards the steps.

Akira locks up, then follows after him like a dog on a leash.

By the time he gets up there, Akechi’s hoodie and sweatpants are draped across his wooden chair to dry, leaving Akechi in only a pair of boxer shorts and one of his large Featherman t-shirts that he usually wore when lounging around his apartment. Seeing him like this here in Leblanc is a little surreal, and Akira swallows thickly at the sight.

Akechi was his... _boyfriend_. Sometimes he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“Holy fuck it’s cold up here,” Akechi curses, wrapping his arms around himself.

Akira blinks at him in surprise, momentarily knocked from his previous mental haze.

It didn’t seem that cold in the attic, Akira had certainly been up here on much colder nights. Then again, Akechi _had_ just come in from the rain and was standing there in nothing but shorts and a t-shirt so he supposes it makes sense he would be cold, and Akira was probably being an incredibly insensitive boyfriend for not immediately coming to that conclusion.

“Did you want to borrow clothes?” Akira asks quickly. Pausing for a second, a playful grin pulls at his lips as he adds, “Or were you hoping I’d warm you up?”

“Charming,” Akechi responds flatly. He takes a cursory glance around the room, his arms still wrapped around himself, before giving Akira a pointed look. “I do hope you had the foresight to tell Futaba to get rid of any bugs she has hidden around here by the way.”

“Oh yeah, I had her deactivate them. And uh, Mona is with her.”

“I noticed.”

The silence that follows is slightly awkward, at least to Akira. He has a sneaking suspicion that Akechi might come to the same conclusion that Futaba did and think that Akira was _expecting_ something to happen tonight. Not that Akira was opposed to fooling around, especially not when Akechi was a longtime subject of his many wet dreams, but he also was very okay with spending a very casual date night with his new boyfriend.

Of course, since Akira doesn’t quite know how he’s supposed to broach that subject without accidentally offending Akechi or something, he says nothing.

Meanwhile, Akechi has taken to looking at the sofa as if it has personally offended him. Which, recalling his last spontaneous stay at Leblanc, it actually might have done just that.

“Your sofa is horrendous. It shouldn’t even classify as a couch,” Akechi says, glaring at the offending piece of furniture as if that alone might be enough to set it on fire so he never has to see it again. Akira assumes he’d come to the conclusion that they’d be watching the movie while sitting on that, which was actually what Akira had been thinking.

According to the way Akechi was still standing valiantly in the middle of the room, defiant despite the fact he’s practically shivering in his boxer shorts, it’s clear that Akira had thought wrong.

“I told you that you didn’t have to sleep on it,” Akira points out, earning a very skeptical look for his efforts.

“And you would have taken it yourself?”

“Yeah,” says Akira without hesitation. “I would have.”

He finds himself a little confused that Akechi would actually doubt that. Why else would he have offered?

Akechi gives him an amused look. “That’s sweet,” he says with a grin before turning his gaze to Akira’s sad little TV setup. “Now help me move this closer to the bed.”

Which is of course, exactly how Akira’s TV ends up halfway across the room so that they could lounge on his bed and still manage to see the screen. And after that’s done, Akira grabs the only dvd he actually has currently in his room, considering he hadn’t exactly had a chance to pick out anything in particular for tonight. That movie being: _‘31’_ , some title he’d never even heard of before with a blurb that read: _A writer and editor battle looming deadlines. Praised for its gutsy tension._

Akira wasn’t really sure what that was supposed to mean, but he had to get his money worth of that movie rental membership somehow, and honestly there really didn’t seem to be all that much to choose from.

Akechi at least doesn’t seem overly concerned with the movie choice, doesn’t even ask what they’re watching. And well, considering mostly everything they’d watched together so far had been some sort of nature documentary, Akira is left to assume that Akechi isn’t that picky with what he watches. That or he simply trusted Akira to pick something halfway decent, in which case he _really_ hoped that this movie wasn’t going to be entirely stupid.

After Akira puts the movie in and presses ‘start’ on the player, he turns to see Akechi lounging back on Akira’s bed with his back against the wall. The sight of Akechi on his bed with nothing but a t-shirt and boxer shorts does things to him that it probably shouldn’t considering they’d already fooled around and Akira had literally slept in Akechi’s bed with him. Still, this just seems different somehow. _New_. Suddenly finding himself a little nervous, Akira slowly moves to sit on the bed with him while Akechi gathers up his blanket and buries himself in it, pulling it all the way up to his chin.

“Don’t you have fucking heating?” He mutters despite the fact that it definitely wasn’t any colder up here than it usually was. In fact, today was a bit warmer than it’d been the past week, probably because Sojiro did in fact turn the heat up. In fact, now that he’d been up here for a while, Akira actually found that he was decently warm, or at the very least comfortable.

“You feeling okay?” He asks Akechi in concern, noting that he still seems to be about ready to fall asleep. “You look tired, you’re not sick are you?”

Akechi gives him an annoyed look. “I’m _fine_ , Kurusu. Stop pestering me.”

Not wanting to push, Akira drops the subject, turning back to the TV screen with a frown. As the movie’s opening credits start, Akechi removes his legs from his blanket cocoon to drape them over Akira lap, slouching even further against the wall in the process. Successfully distracted from the movie, Akira turns his attention to him, noting that when slouching he still manages to look graceful. Despite his somewhat caustic attitude, Akechi always appeared _soft_. _Like a hedgehog_ , Akira’s mind supplies, and he can’t help but smile at the thought. And yet, with Akechi’s delicate features and poised disposition he also always ended up looking unfairly _pretty_ no matter the circumstance.

Akira’s gaze travels down to his bare legs, finding himself once again entranced by his smooth flawless skin. He’d seen firsthand just how much power his thighs had in a display he wasn’t going to be forgetting anytime soon, and yet Akechi’s legs are still slim and graceful, not at all gangly like Akira’s own. In a way, Akechi’s skin almost seems to _glow_ like a beacon to a drowning man, and as if compelled, slowly Akira finds himself trailing his hand a little higher up from his normal spot on his knee.

Beneath his palm, Akechi’s skin is warm and smooth, and under his fingers Akira can feel the tense muscle of his well-toned thigh. At the feel of it, Akira’s heart increases in tempo, and with a glance up at Akechi he finds that his eyes are still on the movie playing, having given no reaction whatsoever to Akira’s wandering hands. Taking that as permission, slowly Akira starts massaging the skin there.

Under his ministrations, Akechi seems to sink a little lower into his slouching position, the muscles beneath his fingers starting to relax. Casually, Akira moves his hand even higher on his thigh, approaching the spot where the ends of his blessedly short boxer shorts sat as well as the end of the blanket, earning nothing but a contented little hum for his efforts. Feeling a little emboldened, Akira lightly digs his fingers into the skin of Akechi’s inner thigh, massaging the skin there. In response, Akechi makes a very deep and pleased noise in the back of his throat that’s ripped right out of his fantasies, and Akira’s gaze shoots up at the sound, meeting Akechi’s half-lidded eyes.

“If you wanted me over for sex all you had to do was say so,” he purrs. “You didn’t need to pretend to want to watch a movie, as cute as it was.”

Throat suddenly very dry, Akira finds himself caught between being suddenly very turned on and also feeling like he’d just royally fucked up somehow.

“What?” He sputters, feeling like a horny teenage idiot. “No that’s not it at all. I did want to watch...“

His words as well as his capacity for thought come to an end as Akechi smirks, throwing the blanket off and moving in closer.

 _Oh god,_ Akira thinks, his heart pounding a frenzied beat in his chest.

“Relax,” Akechi breathes against his lips, cupping Akira’s jaw with his hand. “You don’t have to explain.”

Akira’s eyes flutter shut as he kisses him.

The kiss starts off slow, but it’s not long before Akira’s tenuous hold on himself snaps and he kisses back with all that he has, tangling a hand in Akechi’s hair and pulling him in as close as he possibly can. Akechi makes a pleased humming sound, biting Akira’s bottom lip and sucking it between his teeth. A slightly choked groan escapes Akira at the feeling, and Akechi chuckles softly before slipping his tongue into his mouth.

At some point, while Akira loses himself in the almost _sinful_ things Akechi can do with his tongue, he has the presence of mind to think that this might be better with the two of them laying down. But a little unsure of how exactly to control that, Akira tightens his hold around Akechi and then sort of just falls over onto his side. Akechi huffs out a surprised breath as he’s dragged with him, their kiss breaking as both of them end up on their sides facing each other.

For a moment Akechi just looks at him in surprise before a small laugh escapes him.

“Very smooth, Kurusu,” he tells him, the wild grin stretching his face betraying his amusement.

“Shut up,” Akira mutters, more than a little embarrassed. Luckily for him, Akechi seems to take pity on him, and stops looking at him in favor of kissing down the column of his throat.

“Don’t worry, I won’t leave marks,” Akechi says, his voice thick and heavy.

Akira doesn’t even have the capacity for speech to tell him that he really wouldn’t mind it if he did. So instead he just buries his fingers in Akechi’s hair to encourage him as little involuntary sounds escape his parted lips. At some point, Akechi’s hand ends up at his waistband, and when Akira only mindlessly presses into his touch, Akechi lightly nips at the column of his throat before sticking his hand in his pants, Akira sharply inhaling when his hand wraps around him.

The pace Akechi sets is slow, but the feel of him has Akira arching into his touch. While Akira’s world shrinks down to sensations, he feels Akechi’s lips disconnect from his neck, his hot breath dusting across the skin of his throat.

Eventually, his movements start to grow slower and Akira thinks he might be teasing, up until the point that Akechi’s hand completely stops.

After a moment the deep even breathing across his neck registers, telling Akira that he’d fallen asleep.

 _Not tired my ass,_ he thinks to himself, his thoughts immediately turning worried rather than offended or upset.

He manages to remove Akechi’s hand from his pants, wiping it on his own shirt and willing himself to calm down without doing anything weird like jerking it while Akechi is sound asleep next to him. It’s a lot easier than usual, his thoughts taking a melancholy edge as he realizes just how tired Akechi had actually been, the question once again rising to the surface of his mind on why Akechi had been so willing to come here at all. As much as Akira would love to think that Akechi really honestly just wanted to see him, Akira knows better than to think that was the only factor.

Completely unbidden, he finds himself thinking about what Morgana had said to him, the question that wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d need to truly consider in his lifetime.

_Would you really be okay staying with him even if he kills people?_

Akira shifts so that he can look at Akechi’s face, and at his movement Akechi makes a small noise in his sleep but doesn’t wake. His expression is peaceful, the same way it always looked when he slept- going back all the way to that first time Akira had stayed over his apartment when he’d had far too much alcohol and had curled up on the sofa like a little hedgehog. The deep familiar ache returns to Akira’s chest as he finally stops avoiding what’s right in front of him- what’s been right in front of him.

Akechi could be the Black Mask.

It would provide an answer for a lot of the questions he had about him. The reason Akechi was always so tired, the injuries he’d sustained, the way he walked around the Metaverse from the very beginning as if he’d always been familiar with it. There was of course still doubts that he had- suspicions of his father abusing him being something that was never far from Akira’s mind. But he couldn’t rule out the possibility that Akechi was the one responsible for the mental shutdowns, for as much as he wanted to.

So, that brought back Morgana’s question, would Akira be okay with staying with him even if he killed people? Would Akechi being the Black Mask really change how Akira saw him?

It _should_. He _knew_ that it should on every rational and logical level. And yet...what he felt for Akechi wasn’t exactly rational or logical…

Akechi shivers in his sleep, and Akira reaches back to grab the blanket, gently draping it over him and smiling softly when Akechi instantly buries into it.

Most of the Black Mask’s victims, at least the mental shutdowns on the news appeared to be shitty adults. Which didn’t exactly make it better...but didn’t Ann almost kill Kamoshida in his palace? Didn’t Akira almost _let_ her? Mental shutdowns weren’t exactly standard murder, and if all the shutdown victims were shitty people...then the only outlier would be Wakaba. And well...she’d taken part in human experimentation, and if the Black Mask and Subject Zero really were the same person then...Wakaba was very possibly not the greatest person either.

Then there was the matter of what Akechi had pointed out the day of their beach trip.

 _“Also, there’s the matter of timing,”_ Akechi had said. _“If you’re within the cognitive world, you have no idea what is happening in the real world. Accessing cameras or the internet is impossible from the Metaverse, so how would this ‘Black Mask’ know when to time the hit for when Wakaba was crossing the road?”_

Which had left Akira with the idea that Wakaba’s death had been unintentional, as was probably the case with a lot of the Mental Shutdown victims. The reports stated that they’d ‘lost consciousness’, and most of the victims entered a coma that could last for months and only really died when passing out in dangerous situations.

So, it was entirely possible that Futaba’s mom wasn’t supposed to die, but she did anyway. It was entirely possible that the case was the same for the other deaths as well.

Meaning...if Akechi was the Black Mask then his murders probably weren’t even deliberate. So then the question stood on why he kept doing them at all. Someone had to be telling him to do this, there was no way he’d put all of this stress on himself otherwise. Which of course, leads Akira to think of Akechi’s unnamed father figure who was likely both powerful and abusive to him. The bastard that Akira would like nothing more than to kill for hurting Akechi the way he had.

This was of course, still all purely in the hypothetical. Akira had no proof, but he couldn’t deny that...it made sense.

And if all of that was the case, and Akechi was the Black Mask…

Akechi makes a small noise in his sleep and Akira reaches forward to brush a strand of hair behind his ear, his hand lingering on his cheek.

...Well, Akira wasn’t going anywhere.

***

Akira wakes up to the sound of the door opening downstairs.

Next to him, Akechi is still in his bed, their legs tangled together and somehow even closer than they’d been when Akira had finally fallen asleep last night. His eyes are also open but still tinged with the throes of sleep, likely having woken up to the same sound that Akira had.

It’s then that the realization fully dawns that apparently neither of them had remembered to set an alarm in the wake of what had happened last night. Which meant that Sojiro was already downstairs and therefore blocking the front door like some sort of gate guardian.

“Oops,” Akechi says flatly, turning onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. Akira can’t help but smile.

“Want to escape out the window?”

Akechi shoots him a withering look. “Only to find that image showing up online somewhere? Are you really afraid of him making assumptions about us?”

“No,” Akira says honestly with a shrug. “I don’t mind anyone knowing.”

For a moment Akechi stares with him in that way that was always tinged with pure befuddlement, as if Akira was some sort of puzzle that he couldn’t figure out. Or alternatively, that Akira was a special breed of weird that he couldn’t even hope to comprehend.

The latter option was probably the more factually correct statement, but that didn’t stop Akira from hoping it could be the former.

“Well, that settles that then,” Akechi says after a moment, and then climbs out of bed.

Taking his clothes from the chair, Akechi inspects them briefly before apparently finding them to have dried enough for him to slip back on. Akira watches him for a bit while laying down before he finally sits up in bed. It was much earlier than Akira was used to being up in the morning for school, but it was still a fair bit later than Akechi had left the last time- judging by the fact that Akira had woken up with him having already left.

“Are you going to be able to make it back to your apartment and get ready in time for school?” Akira asks him.

“I’m actually not going in for my morning classes today since I have an interview early this afternoon,” Akechi says with a yawn, looking adorably sleep-addled. His hair is sticking up in places, which he unsuccessfully attempts to pat down, and it gives a ruffled look to his soft hair that Akira finds utterly endearing. “I will need a bit of extra time to get ready however,” he adds. “So, it’s best I leave now.”

“Okay,” Akira says, unable to keep the dopey smile from his face.

Akechi gives him an odd look, before he crosses the room over to him, tilting Akira’s chin up with one long graceful finger. “I do apologize for falling asleep last night,” he says, leaning in with his voice low in a way that makes Akira’s heart flutter pathetically. “I must have been more tired than I thought.”

“You think?” Akira quips back, happy that his voice manages to come out sounding unaffected.

Akechi grins in response, devious and unfairly attractive.

“I can make it up to you,” he purrs. “Come to my apartment after school today.”

Akira swallows thickly. “I can do that.”

“Good. Bring an overnight bag too if you’d like.”

Akira nods, and Akechi seems satisfied.

“I’ll see you tonight then,” Akechi says, looking far too proud of himself as he pulls back without so much as a single kiss, and promptly strides away, heading down the steps to the main floor of Leblanc.

“Menace…” Akira mutters to himself once he’s gone.

Deciding that he wasn’t about to get back to sleep anytime soon, Akira finally rises from his bed and changes into his school uniform. He was definitely early, but he also would probably need to pick up Morgana since Sojiro likely didn’t know he’d been over there at all.

When he heads downstairs, Sojiro immediately puts down his crossword to look at him.

“That kid, he stayed over last night?” Sojiro asks him, and Akira suddenly feels a little like a deer caught in headlights.

 _Well, here we go,_ he thinks to himself.

“Yeah.”

Hopefully he didn’t end up getting kicked out and sent to live on the streets. At least if that happened Akechi _probably_ would let him move into his apartment.

“And I take it he’s who you’ve been staying with on the nights you’ve been out?” Sojiro assumes correctly, and Akira’s honestly surprised that he’d apparently noticed and yet hadn’t said anything. “Don’t think I can be fooled that easy, I know you’d never leave for school before I even get here in the morning. Not to mention all those days you left early during the summer. I might be old, but I could always tell there was something going on between you two.”

It finally registers that the way he says it makes it sound as if he’s amused if anything. In that standard old-man _‘I remember how I was when I was young’_ kind of way. It’s not exactly the reaction Akira expected, but he’s sure as hell not complaining.

“You’re not...mad?”

“Hey, it ain’t none of my business,” Sojiro tells him. “The heart does what it wants, we can’t choose who we get feelings for. I won’t ask for details, just make sure you use protection, alright?”

Akira blinks at him.

“Huh?”

“You don’t know who that kid’s been with,” Sojiro says, his eyes narrowing and suddenly looking very serious.

And it does occur to Akira that Akechi _had_ told him he wasn’t a virgin...but this wasn’t exactly something he was prepared to ask out of nowhere, Wasn’t that rude? Didn’t that break some sort of new relationship etiquette or something?

“Uh yeah, I’ll be sure to...do that,” Akira says quickly, suddenly feeling very awkward while also feeling the beginnings of another internal crisis coming on. “I’m going to go now.”

And with that, Akira flees like the well functioning individual he swears he is.

***

Since he’s technically still early for school, after picking up Morgana at Sojiro’s house, Akira takes the train to Shibuya and then walks around the square for a little bit before boarding the Ginza line.

And of course, he decides this is the best time to lament all of his thoughts and concerns to his best friend and favorite feline companion.

“We’ve been dating for less than a week, and I’m pretty sure asking if he’s clean might go against some crucial dating rule,” he tells Morgana, careful to keep his voice relatively low. “He’s going to think I’m calling him a whore and then he’s going to break up with me and never talk to me again. Then I’m going to have to tell everyone that I fucked everything up with Akechi when we only just started dating and I’m going to spend the rest of my pathetic existence alone.”

“Uh, I mean I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Morgana says. “As much as I dislike Akechi, I have to admit that he does have good hygiene.”

It takes Akira a moment to process exactly what he’s saying. In hindsight, perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to talk to his magical talking cat about sexually transmitted diseases.

“No...uh, not that type of clean,” Akira says, finally coming to terms with his grave mistake. Hopefully Morgana would just drop it so he wouldn’t have to try to sit him down to explain the birds and the bees. That wasn’t exactly a step in his life he was prepared for yet.

“What do you mean then?” Morgana asks anyway because clearly some god above _really_ had it out for him and was probably having a great time witnessing the disaster that was his life.

“Nevermind Mona,” Akira says quickly, pulling out his phone in preparation to text the person he should have started with. “It’s not important.”

_**[0732] Me:** Sojiro said I should ask Akechi if he’s clean but I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that._

_**[0734] Ann:** uh...I mean yeah, after only a week of being together it does seem a little...bad to be bringing up now. Not the best look, you know?_

He breathes out a sigh of relief, seeing that she understood his point.

_**[0734] Me:** right?!_

_**[0735] Ann:** besides I’m guessing you two are going to take it pretty slow anyway_

_**[0735] Ann:** i’d maybe try to bring it up casually once you two talk about having sex?_

His fingers hover over the keypad, unsure if he should mention that they’d already...fooled around a little. It seemed like a really personal thing to share without first consulting Akechi since they did have the same friend group…

Deciding to keep it secret, Akira types out his next message.

_**[0737] Me:** ok casual! I can do that!_

***

Akira really wasn’t sure if he could manage casual.

The entire school day he’d been trying to think of ways he could _casually_ bring it up. Ideas ranging from mentioning hearing someone talk about it in the halls, to suggesting that they both get tested despite the fact that Akira’s only sexual experience with another person was having Akechi’s hand on his dick so it’d be obvious anyway that Akechi was the one he was concerned about.

Suffice to say, by the time Akira knocks on the door to Akechi’s apartment, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder, he’s panicking a little.

When Akechi answers the door to let him go, Akira notes that he’s still in his uniform. Or at the very least his white button up and slacks, his tie is missing and Akira assumes it’s on the table the same way it’d been last time.

“Did you only just get home now?” Akira asks, stepping past him into his apartment. After shutting the door and locking it, Akechi turns to him with a nod.

“I got back a few minutes ago,” he says somewhat curtly before striding past Akira and over to his sofa where he almost immediately lies down, curling up in a ball. Concern instantly tugs at Akira’s gut, seeing how Akechi not only apparently didn’t have the energy to change out of his uniform, but also that he wasn’t even pretending to feel okay.

Before he joins him on the sofa, Akira takes a moment to remove his jacket and hang it up near the door since apparently Akechi had decided to go a little crazy with the heat setting. Morgana, of course, isn’t with him, much more content to spend time with Futaba or Ann rather than having to ‘watch him and Akechi be gross with each other’, as he had so eloquently put it.

“Another migraine?” Akira asks as he finally makes his way over to Akechi, settling in on the free spot left on the couch beside him.

“My head is attempting to split itself open, put me out of my misery,” he mutters into the arm of the couch, his voice muffled. And although Akira is definitely worried, he can’t help but smile to himself at his dramatics.

“Maybe I can help, come here,” Akira offers, patting his lap in open invitation.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but he finds himself surprised when Akechi lifts his head from the sofa as if to consider his proposition moments before he complies to Akira’s request. Moving across the couch to lay down, he almost tentatively rests his head on Akira’s lap.

“Don’t get excited just because my head is near your dick by the way,” he says without looking at him while Akira sits there, completely frozen.

While Akira huffs out a quiet laugh, he also finds himself very suddenly reminded of what he’s supposed to be asking.

“Are you clean?” He blurts like an idiot with a broken brain-to-mouth filter.

For a moment, Akechi only stares at him in complete confusion.

And in that moment, Akira prays to any god above to please open up a hole in the earth that would swallow him whole. It’d be a merciful death because here he was with Akechi’s head on his lap like the luckiest guy on the planet and he had to go and say the absolute stupidest thing imaginable. Akechi was going to break up with him and Akira was absolutely going to spend the rest of his sad existence completely alone.

After a moment, realization seems to dawn on Akechi’s face, and Akira’s preparing for the worst before Akechi far too casually says: “Yeah, sorry it completely slipped my mind. I’m clean.”

Akira blinks at him in surprise, not entirely sure if he heard him right. This shouldn’t have been that easy.

“Oh, that’s…good,” Akira says when Akechi doesn’t end up revealing that he’d only been joking and that he was actually breaking up with him and never speaking to him ever again.

So...apparently he’d been panicking over nothing.

As the two of them drift into a comfortable silence, Akira slowly starts to card his fingers through Akechi’s hair, stopping occasionally to gently massage his temples. It’s not long before Akechi relaxes under the attention, his eyes going half-lidded.

In a way, like this Akechi looks a lot like a contented cat, and yet, he’s still clearly tense, which tells Akira that migraine has to be particularly bad. Really Akechi _should_ probably get these checked out, especially since they seemed to be happening so frequently, but Akira also knows that Akechi wouldn’t take kindly to being asked to see Takemi again. And really...he’s sure if they got too bad, Akechi would go see a doctor.

At least, he really hopes he wouldn’t be stubborn enough not to.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Akechi says completely unprompted, and Akira looks down at him in surprise.

“Uh, what did you want to know?”

“Anything,” Akechi says, opening his eyes to look up at him with his wine-red gaze. “Your hometown, what was it like?”

Akira can’t help but fidget under his stare, suddenly nervous. He...wasn’t all that used to talking about himself. Usually, he just listened.

“Oh um, it was pretty boring. A lot of farmland and there wasn’t much around, so my parents had to travel for work a lot.”

“I admit I haven’t really been outside Tokyo myself.”

“Neither have I,” Akira admits. “Actually, this is the first time I’ve been to anywhere outside my hometown. When they traveled, my parents, they…didn’t exactly take me with them.” He notices the somewhat sympathetic look that Akechi’s giving him, and Akira automatically backtracks. “But it was fine! Our house was really nice and up until I was around…thirteen maybe, they always hired someone to watch me so I wasn’t alone.”

“And after thirteen?” Akechi asks, his voice low.

Akira shrugs. “I can take care of myself,” he says in a vague approximation of an answer before quickly continuing. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal. My parents are perfectly fine, it’s not like they ever- uh you know,” he says and weakly gestures, not wanting to reference abuse in front of Akechi since it’d likely be kind of a sensitive subject for him. Fortunately, if he is bothered, then he doesn’t look like it. “They’re a little distant, sure, but they always made sure I had what I needed. And I grew up fine.” He tries for a smile, knowing that it falls short. Akechi gives him another look as if he can see right through his bullshit, but his eyes seem heavy with exhaustion nonetheless. “Sorry, I know I’m not really that interesting.”

For a moment Akechi doesn’t say anything. The seconds tick by, and Akira’s almost positive he’s not going to answer when his voice cuts through the silence, soft and quiet.

“I think you’re plenty interesting,” he tells him. “And I think your parents are pieces of shit.”

Akira stares down at him in muted shock, his words slowly sinking in as Akira continues to gently run his fingers through his hair.

“You should nap,” Akira says eventually, his tone soft and fond. “I’ll make dinner in a little bit.”

Akechi makes a small sound of agreement, shifting into a slightly more comfortable position before his eyes finally slip shut.

Akira sits there unmoving for some time after, continuing to run his fingers through Akechi’s hair, all the while desperately hoping that he really was helping him in some way.

In his sleep, Akechi’s face contorts as if in pain, something relating to a nightmare possibly. Something that Akira can’t fix from where he is now, sitting here with the innate knowledge that there are still things that Akechi is keeping from him.

“I’ll care about you no matter what,” Akira murmurs. “I just wish you knew you could trust me.”

Akechi, of course, doesn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And coming up...the conclusion to Okumura's palace :)


	22. GORO XI: For That Impossible Tomorrow

**_[Yesterday] Akira_ ** _ : after what Haru told us, we’re heading back into the palace tomorrow _

**_[Yesterday] Akira:_ ** _ just after lunch, it’s gonna be a long one _

**_[Yesterday] Futaba:_ ** _ slave driver! _

**_[Yesterday] Sakamoto:_ ** _ i mean were kinda cutting it close for haru right _

**_[Yesterday] Haru:_ ** _ Oh, please don’t feel pressured to rush on my account! _

**_[Yesterday] Haru:_ ** _ I trust we will be able to change my father’s heart before I am to marry… _

**_[Yesterday] Ann:_ ** _ that awful beast you call a fiance?  _

**_[Yesterday] Haru:_ ** _ Well.  _

**_[Yesterday] Haru:_ ** _ Yes.  _

Goro closed the group chat as everyone gathered together for the transition into the Palace, affecting a nonchalant air despite his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribcage. Ever since his- nightmare, he had veered wildly between absolute dread and apathetic acceptance about what would happen when he stepped back into Okumura’s Palace. After all, there was a legitimate concern that he could no longer… 

He caught Akira’s eye, who gave him a wordless look that said  _ ‘you okay?’ _

Goro looked away with a huff. 

There was a nervous tension running through the group - they were all working towards a set date now, the 11th of October, and while Okumura’s change of heart before had a sense of urgency, it hadn’t been pressed with a firm deadline. Now they were having to frantically sprint through the remainder of the Palace, painfully aware that they were cutting it drastically fine, whereas before they normally resolved the Palace well in advance. 

Right now, they had just over a week to succeed.

Goro was resigned to his inevitable failure at this point. 

The world rippled around them, reality melting into the eddies of the Metaverse, and Goro closed his eyes and held his breath. He was waiting - waiting for the inevitable. If that dream had been real, then he would lose his Persona abilities, wouldn’t he? Loki and Robin Hood shared the same space, so if one went rogue, then the other must follow suit, right? 

The air chilled, gaining that artificial edge to it, and-

And nothing was said. They transitioned into Okumura’s Palace without incident, and when Goro opened his eyes and lifted a hand to his face, his red-beaked mask was there. He was still the Prince. 

But something felt wrong. 

He lingered in the back of the group, quietly shifting into the reserves without needing to be asked - prompting Akira and Futaba to send him covert looks at his unusual behaviour. Akira was to be expected, but Goro was reminded that Futaba had her fingers on all of their pulses, an insight into their stats and health to better manage and direct them all. He had no idea what she knew - what she could  _ know _ \- what she had already figured out. His ‘stats’ must be abnormal, right? Something felt...

Something felt really wrong inside of him. 

It felt - like - he was lopsided. Something inside his chest cavity was too heavy on one side, almost suffocatingly so, and Robin Hood was so  _ sluggish. _ Every summon felt like he was dragging him through thick, sticky tar, and inexplicably the Persona had forgotten how to cast Curse spells. Goro found he couldn’t recall how to cast them either, but he  _ could _ cast them -  _ he knew he could _ \- so why…?

The uncertainty of it all plagued him as they slogged their way through the Palace’s factory, an arduous ordeal that culminated in a long, exhausting fight with another Corporobo. Throughout it all he  _ lagged _ , trailing behind  _ Haru _ of all people, whose inexperienced performance was outstripping his in leaps and bounds, her potential driven by an unshakeable determination to  _ save her father  _ from his own distorted desires. 

The bitterness of this realisation almost choked him, feeding something barbed and ugly in his heart every time Haru turned to him with an encouraging smile, every time Haru wordlessly adjusted to one of his fumbles, every time Haru slaughtered an enemy Shadow before it could harm him with cheery enthusiasm, every time she- 

“Do you like vegetables, Crow?” Haru asked as they swept up the last of the Shadows that had tried to ambush Joker’s main group from the rear, “I have some fresh ones that have finished growing in Shujin’s gardens. They’ll make a lovely soup for you, I’m sure.” 

Every time she was just genuinely  _ kind _ to him. 

Goro looked at her exhaustedly, not even bothering to hide his expression. Haru simply smiled at him, but her gaze was sharp, noting the slump in his shoulders and his general… shittiness. Even in his Prince outfit, there was an edge of dishevelment that normally wasn’t there - a few more wrinkles in his tunic, his hair a little messier, his mask slightly crooked.

“Soup,” he said, like a man at the end of his rope. 

“You’re looking a little peaky. A warm, hearty vegetable soup will do just the trick,” Haru said with that soft-spoken bluntness that made it difficult to deflect, “And you keep shivering! Are you cold? Oh, you aren’t coming down with a fever, are you?”

God, he hoped not. The last thing he needed was to be  _ ill. _

“I’m fine,” Goro lied, and Haru hummed, clearly not buying it. They lapsed into a not-quite-awkward silence, though, as they followed after the main group. 

“...I’m aware that we haven’t known each other for long, so you may not be comfortable with me,” Haru said abruptly, shattering that silence. Just ahead of them Goro could see Futaba’s ridiculous UFO Persona floating after the main group, Mona hitching a ride with her (considering Mona was usually the one carting them around, it seemed like a fair trade). It left just him and Haru in the rear, usually safe from encroaching Shadows with Joker steamrolling everything in his path like a man possessed. 

“But know that I do care about everyone in the Phantom Thieves, even though we have only been together for a short time,” Haru was smiling a little wistfully, gazing at something only she could see beyond Futaba, “You have been so accepting and accommodating, despite my inexperience and… appalling apathy to my father’s crimes…”

She trailed off. She seemed to be fishing for the right words. 

“So, I must ask,” she turned her head to look at him, straightforward and blunt, “Have I done something to offend?”

Goro startled guiltily. 

“What?” he blurted eloquently. 

“I’m sorry if that’s rude, but…” Haru fidgeted, “I’ve noticed that you try to keep your distance from me, and always seem uncomfortable whenever I speak to you. If I have offended in some way, I wish to apologise and make amends…”

Goro said nothing for a long moment, heavily discomforted. The reason he kept his distance was because after that - idea, he had, regarding the perfection resolution to the Okumura problem, he could barely look Haru in the eye without feeling disgusted with himself. She spoke to him with absolute kindness, and had no idea he was an awful human being, plotting to murder her father under her nose, had entertained  _ killing her _ for fucking  _ convienience’s sake. _ Just being in close proximity to her made him feel sick to his stomach.

“You haven’t offended me, Noir,” Goro said, looking away shamefully. His guts felt like they’d been replaced with a nest of agitated snakes, “I apologise if I came across like that. I’ve just been tired recently, from my various commitments, and I fear this has made me a little… anti-social. I apologise if I made it feel like you’re unwelcome. That… wasn’t my intention.”

He could feel the weight of her stare, assessing, scorching the side of his face. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, feeling smaller and smaller with each fluttering heartbeat. He had no idea crippling guilt could be so agonising to carry, but he found himself incapable of letting the burden go. 

“I see,” Haru murmured, sounding unconvinced, “I’m glad.” 

Goro said nothing, and they lapsed into stilted, awkward silence. Haru still glanced at him though, worried and thoughtful, an expression he was seeing on everybody’s faces now. How long would it be until they started poking into his personal affairs out of concern, only to rear back in horror once they uncovered the truth about him? All this kindness would shrivel up and vanish… 

_ well deserved, _ a despondent voice mumbled in the back of his mind, where Robin Hood dwelt. 

**_who needs kindness_ **

snarled an ugly rasp that Goro firmly ignored, pretended didn’t exist. 

Who needed kindness? 

Who even  _ wanted _ kindness?

Goro recalled: that stuttering, burning pain in his lungs as he not-cried, Akira’s warm hand between his shoulder blades, unflinching and gentle, despite the ugliness of Goro’s despair laid bare for once in his life. That kindness had been agonising, addictive, absolutely fucking  _ ruining. _ Goro scrambled for the barest of crumbs without lowering himself to ask for it, and the thought of them discovering the truth, of  _ Akira _ discovering the truth and snatching that kindness away from him, never to be so easily handed over again…

_ i do, _ Goro admitted quietly to himself,  _ i want kindness.  _

Shame and anger filled him. 

It was alien in its suddenness. 

  
  


**_disgusting._ **

* * *

Soul-searching revelations aside, the recent Palace trip told Goro that if he wanted to know what the hell was happening to him before his worth completely evaporated, Wakaba was his only hope, ironically. 

_ “You want to look at Mom’s research?”  _ Futaba asked distractedly, her voice tinny over the phone. He could hear the  _ clackclackclack _ of her mechanical keyboard - she was clearly busy with something,  _ “Uh, why? I’ve combed it from top to bottom.” _

“I’m hoping to find any identifiable clues regarding Subject Zero,” he lied through his teeth, tasting bile at uttering that  _ fucking name _ for the first time in two years, “You’re observant, Futaba, but with my experience as a-”

_ “Yeah, yeah, you don’t need to pull up your Detective Prince schtick with me,”  _ Futaba interrupted. There was a pause, a notably thoughtful one. There was no more typing, her drumming her fingers on something - her desk, most likely - before she exhaled roughly. 

_ “Okay, fine,”  _ she said, and there was a very strange lilt to her voice that Goro couldn’t identify,  _ “But you better tell me if you find anything.” _

“Of course.”

As if. 

She was prompt. Goro got a notification for an email within minutes, and he fished out his laptop, perching himself on the edge of his sofa. 

For the first time all week, he had his apartment to himself, Akira apologetically confessing that he had prior engagements he really couldn’t ignore (and also homework he had been neglecting to indulge Goro’s  _ childishness). _ So, to mitigate the terrified loneliness, he had all of his apartment’s lights on, because something about having a dark spot anywhere in his home had his pulse launching up to the stratosphere. 

Goro Akechi, Ace Detective - scared of the dark.

He huffed disgustedly at himself, tugging his duvet tighter around him. His living room was absolutely frigid, had been since that nightmare. It was a clammy sort of chill that stuck to his skin, like standing beneath a downpour of ice-cold rain, damp and disgusting and exhausting - it dogged him no matter how many layers he buried himself in, no matter how high he cranked the temperature in his apartment. It sapped the body heat out of his bones, and the only time he felt  _ warm _ was if he lingered close to Akira or one of the Phantom Thieves, like they somehow shielded him from this preternatural chill that hung around him. 

It was all in his head. Of course it was. 

He was imagining it. 

_ or i’m going insane, _ he thought apathetically, resigned to becoming some sort of crazed hermit after a mortifying public meltdown,  _ absolutely stark raving mad. _

The message contents were empty and it came from a disposable address. It possessed only one solitary attachment labeled  _ ‘crow’s_homework.pdf’ _ , and his mouse hovered over it and-

Abruptly, he felt anxious. 

It came upon him without warning, his gaze fixed on that innocent pdf as a tremor not attributed to the cold wracked through him. It felt like something deep inside of him was pushing at him to turn away, to close his eyes and not look, to delete the email and pretend he found nothing, because there  _ was _ nothing in there, of course there was, he didn’t need to- didn’t need to  _ read- _

_ this may have the answers i need,  _ Goro thought at himself angrily, viciously stamping down that strange fear,  _ stop being a little bitch! _

His hand trembled, but the anger helped him to fight through the inexplicable fear to save the pdf into his work folder, which was password protected. His heart had migrated to his throat, his pulse audibly thundering in his ears. He was all but vibrating with battle-instinct, hunched over his laptop like he was disarming a delicate and dangerous trap in a hostile Palace. 

Why was this so difficult?

Wakaba’s research shouldn’t be anything new to him. He had been  _ there _ every fucking step of the way, privy to every single success and  _ failure _ she’d carved into his psyche. This should be easy. Indifferent. But- no, he- he didn’t need to read in black and white what dehumanising hypotheses she concocted while he’d been strapped down to-

His stomach lurched nauseatingly. Goro almost closed his laptop lid, thinking  _ i can’t do it i can’t  _ **_look-_ **

But he needed to. Whatever’s happening to him regarding Loki, he needed to look. 

After a few steadying breaths, Goro opened up the document. The front page was unassuming, her name, the paper’s title _ (“Contributing functional neuroimaging to the study of social cognition")  _ \- which was strange, because that title was utterly at odds with what she studied, though she did take a lot of neuroimages of his brain during the-

The… 

Goro found his mind drawing a blank, his brow furrowing as he stared uncomprehendingly at Wakaba’s name  _ (Dr. Isshiki). _ It was like his brain descended into smeared white noise, his thoughts easily sliding over that strange gap in his memory and skipping to the next part seamlessly.  _ During the- _ his mind said, and the next, immediate, unhesitating thought was-

_ this is a long ass document,  _ he mentally grumbled, noting that the number of pages were dangerously close to the triple digits,  _ i don’t have time for all this... _

He scrolled through the paper, the beginnings of it a lot of pointless fluff that he skimmed past. No wonder Futaba had insisted on an electronic copy, this would be a nightmare if it were actual  _ papers. _ Impatient, he ctrl+f’d  _ ‘subject zero’ _ and hit enter a few times, the screen obediently darting through the instances until he found a promising paragraph. 

_ “Subject Zero” _ said the paper and abruptly, Goro didn’t want to read anymore-

_ (“subject zero sounds dehumanising,” he complained, holding still as wakaba stuck the sensors onto his chest, “you could have at least picked an actual number.” _

_ “it’s not dehumanising. it's to help anonymity when the paper’s submitted,” wakaba said, and leaned back with a small, wry smile, “and to allow some emotional distance between subject and researcher. but if it bothers you…” _

_ “it doesn’t,” goro said, because he didn’t want to seem too childish.  _

_ “then i can give you a nicer nickname,” wakaba offered, seeing right through him. her smile warmed, becoming indulgent, and she said, “you like featherman, right? how about-”) _

Goro slammed his laptop shut. 

He was breathing too hard, clammy and cold, the edges of his thoughts scraped raw and bloody. He felt like he had just missed a step, the bottom of his stomach swooping high up into his chest cavity from the minor slip, and he breathed and breathed and breathed until his heart stopped trying to escape through his sternum, staring wide-eyed at his trembling hand splayed over his laptop lid. 

“S-Stop being- stop being a  _ child,” _ he whispered, forcing himself to open the laptop again. The screen flickered back on -  _ subject zero, _ his gaze was drawn to - and he squeezed his eyes shut, cursing this terrified, weak side of him. Why… why was this so hard?

_ i don’t want to remember, don’t, don’t, don’t, _ a quiet voice cried and cried and-

**_this is pointless to know_ **

Goro’s stubbornness reared its ugly, bullish head. He opened his eyes and read. 

_ “-recommend that we adopt right unilateral ECT over bilateral ECT for Subject Zero’s next session, as studies show that RUL electrode is associated with significantly less adverse cognitive side effects than BL electrode placement. Adjustments: high-dosage RUL ECT (6.0 x seizure threshold) is as effective as high-dosage BL ECT (2.5 x seizure threshold). Note: request Benefactor to obtain more nortriptyline-”  _

ECT? RUL? What was… 

Goro had a disconcerting feeling like he was perched on the very edge of a bottomless pit. His mind anxiously circled a memory, one that was half-rotted in the dark quagmire where he stuffed everything involving Wakaba - he knew those terms, rationally he knew them, he knew he knew what these meant, in context to him, but he didn’t dare recall them. The memory was  _ there, _ but something physically prevented him from touching it. He stared unseeingly at the words _ “seizure threshold” _ and felt a nauseous shiver crawl down his spine, a faint, faint echo of a memory that refused to be called. 

_ (“-o-  _

_ no-  _

_ no!  _

_ Th-  _

_ -ng-  _

_ op -  _

_ experi-  _

_ now!”) _

Goro closed the file and thought no more of it.

* * *

Eventually, despite Goro’s hopes and fears - they reached the end of the Palace and the calling card was sent on the 4th of October. Goro had accepted this with a strange sort of relief, that one way or another this arduous chapter of his life was coming to an end, even if it wasn’t in his favour. Even if he failed to kill Okumura. Even if he  _ succeeded _ and the Thieves hated him for it. It was ending and he’d be free of this torment at long last. 

It was just a question of who would punish him first: Shido, the Thieves or Loki. 

“Are you okay?”

Goro hummed at the expected question, not bothering to open his eyes as Akira continued to comb his fingers through his hair. After the first time he did it, this had swiftly replaced his tradition of using Akira’s lap as a legrest - it was far more pleasant, and he was shameless enough to enjoy it while he could. Despite being a little gangly, Akira had enough meat on his thigh to serve as a comfortable pillow, and the warmth he emitted was downright amazing. 

“I’ve said it enough times, Kurusu,” Goro muttered groggily, “I’m fine.”

“It’s just…” Akira exhaled roughly, “It’s a million degrees in here. I don’t know how you’re not… dying.” 

_ like me, _ went unsaid. 

Akira’s thigh was a bit sticky with sweat - he actually stripped down to his boxers, he claimed he was so warm - a lingering scent of musk distracting him from his attempted doze. It wasn’t that hot, was it? 

“I’m cold-blooded,” Goro settled on saying, and it was apparently the right thing because Akira huffed out a fond laugh and asked nothing more. Suitably distracted, Goro opened his eyes and looked at the television: a gazelle was getting eaten alive by a pack of hyenas. 

_ mood, _ he thought. 

“It’s getting late,” Akira said, adhering to Morgana’s draconian curfews despite the cat not even being here. He was thoroughly indoctrinated by the ten o’clock bedtime, “And we have to steal Okumura’s treasure tomorrow. We should probably go to bed.” 

“It’s not that late,” Goro said.

He didn’t really want to sleep. 

As the day of stealing Okumura’s treasure loomed closer, Goro’s dreams became more bizarre and threatening, to the point where he found himself stealing short catnaps throughout the night rather than outright sleeping. The dreams sometimes followed him into reality as very intense and disorientating hallucinations, and he’d rather not slip up and demonstrate his budding insanity to Akira if he accidentally interacted with them. 

Of course he couldn’t say that when Akira gave him a questioning look, so he smiled and made a show of stretching contentedly. 

“I’m perfectly content where I am,” he purred, pointedly snuggling down in his position. 

Any brewing concern cleared instantly from Akira’s face as he laughed, “Well, that’s fine for you, but my leg is falling asleep.” 

“Hmm,” Goro closed his eyes, “Not my problem.” 

“Akechi,” Akira sighed fondly, and he felt him gently stroke his cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line just beneath his eye, “Your eyebags have eyebags. We should go to bed.”

No getting out of it, then. When Akira adopted  _ that _ voice, Goro found not even his most shameless flirting or seduction distracted him. He made a small, conceding noise in the back of his throat, and reluctantly sat up. 

“Fine,” he muttered. 

In a routine that was becoming unsettlingly familiar, they got ready for bed. Tomorrow was a school day, so Akira would be leaving early, which Goro found himself feeling a little agitated over. He hated the early morning just after Akira left, where his thoughts had nothing to do but chew their own tails, delving deeper and deeper into anxious predictions of the future. His apartment felt more like a prison of his own making than an actual  _ home _ in those moments. 

“You’ve been tense all day,” Akira commented once they were settled in bed, and Goro took advantage of his body warmth to fight off that pervasive chill gnawing its way into his bone marrow, “And- wow, your feet are  _ cold.” _

“Deal with it,” Goro grunted, sticking his cold feet against Akira’s calves to warm them up, “And I’m fine, just stressed out.”

“Hmm,” Akira’s eyes were heavy-lidded but still visible in the low-light of his bedroom. Goro evaded his keen stare, closing his eyes and burying his face into his pillow. He fought down a shiver. 

Why the hell was it so cold? He cranked his heating up to  _ maximum. _

“What are you stressed about?” Akira asked, a little bolder in his probing today, “Can I help with it?”

Goro had to laugh quietly at that, because, wow. No, no you cannot, Akira. 

“It’s a long list,” he said wryly, his tone a little drowsy. Akira’s warmth was beating back the chill, and he felt so relaxed and content… surely he won’t have a nightmare tonight? “Maintaining my honour student status, doing interviews, trying not to be devoured in the court of public opinion, managing my public persona, working with the SIU, Phantom Thieves business…”

He felt Akira wince against him, “Oh, yeah. That’s a lot…”

“Things will be easier once I finish school,” Goro mumbled sleepily, “Maybe I’ll take a gap year, before going to university. Ease my schedule a little.” 

“You think we’ll still be Phantom Thieves then?”

Goro made a vague noise - he never thought that far in the future before. He always saw it ending with Shido’s, a vast stretch of grey nothingness that held no interest for him beyond his revenge. But now… now he did find himself peeking past his all-consuming shadow, and he vaguely wanted what he saw in that mythical tomorrow. Impossible, of course, but he wanted it all the same. 

_ is it impossible, though?  _

**_it is_ **

_ no, you are just afraid _

Goro frowned as those voices whispered and hissed at each other, their words dissolving into unintelligible noise that sunk into his subconsciousness. He felt himself lull deeper into a doze and, with his guard lowered, Akira’s warm body beside him, and his thoughts slightly turned towards more bittersweet yet hopeful things - he fell asleep. 

* * *

And dreamed: 

He was ten years old and he just came back from school. The dream was both lucid and not, and Goro recognised the scene the moment he stepped inside the dark apartment he shared with Mom, but felt no sense of alarm. He mechanically went through the motions of That Day, until he ended up in the bathroom where Mom killed herself. 

She was in the bathtub, and the water swirled with pink, darker red and browning stains running in lines over the rim. Her pale arm hung out of the bath, the wrists slit vertically down towards the elbow. The body was stiff and cold, the blood dried into streaks of rust brown. The whole scene was faintly hazy, yet also sharp with high-definition focus, a camera sliding in and out as Goro approached Mom and tried to get her out of the bathtub. 

He failed, of course. She was heavy, and he was ten, and the water made everything slippery and he was crying too much to see - the pink water got all over him, and he was yelling at himself  _ stop, idiot, go call the police, this is just a stupid nightmare, of all things to dream about, stop- _

“Ah, look what you’ve done.” 

Goro froze when a hand settled on the nape of his neck, strong and unyielding, the tips of sharp nails - claws - digging in close to his throat. In the rippling pink water swirling around Mom’s corpse, he saw a shadowy figure leaning over his shoulder, with brilliant, golden eyes. 

“Your first murder at ten years old!” the voice said - his voice, warped and thrumming with malice, “Quite an achievement.”

“I-I didn’t kill her,” Goro said, in that horrible, childish voice, trembling and on the verge of crying. 

“Yes, you did,” The other Goro said back to him in a low, dangerous voice, “You were such an unwanted burden, that the only way she saw freedom was to escape life itself. She was too kind to kill  _ you, _ after all, too kind to throw you away like anyone else would’ve.”

Goro said nothing. The hand on his neck pushed him down, until his forehead was almost touching the rim of the bloodied bathtub. 

“Do you know why I’m showing you this?”

“It’s a dream,” Goro rasped, “It’s a  _ dream. _ You’re not real. I’m imagining this and-”

_ “It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s not real,  _ grow up and stop rejecting the truth!” Other Goro laughed at him, genuinely sounding amused, “You’re no longer a child! You’re a cold-blooded  _ killer, _ and now you’re hoping to have a happy ending?  _ You? _ You haven’t changed at all.” 

The hand let him go and Goro scrambled away, to the far edge of the bath, where Mom’s head lolled over the edge. Goro looked up, but it was like some pressure was forcing his gaze away from the person in front of him, only able to see in his periphery demonic eyes that glowed golden and a smile he saw almost every day on blogs and TV: his Detective Prince smile.

Warped and edged, more bestial than human. It was absolutely horrifying. 

“You’re a burden to them, as well,” the Other Goro told him with gentle malice, “Once they find out… oh, no, once  _ Akira _ finds out, you think they’ll forgive you? That they’ll understand? They won’t. Humans are vile, selfish creatures, every last one of them. They may  _ pretend, _ they may  _ trick _ you into believing otherwise, but they won’t forgive you. Ever. All that lies in your future is painful  _ ruin. _ It’s pointless to hope for anything else.”

Goro said nothing. He had no defence for such sharply delivered truths. 

Other Goro stepped forwards, looming over him, and grabbed his jaw, “This has to stop. This  _ trust _ in the others has to stop. It will only lead to rejection and pain and  _ failure. _ Our revenge is all that matters.  _ Winning the game _ is all that matters.”

WINNING THE GAME. 

Those three words lodged uncomfortably in Goro’s brain, like he heard them elsewhere before in a context absolutely horrifying to him. He blinked rapidly as Other Goro leaned down at him, his face fuzzing in and out of focus. Those golden eyes hid an empty, bottomless darkness inside of them, alien and inhuman. 

“You’re afraid, and that’s fine,” Other Goro told him softly, “I’ll do what needs to be done.”

Then he shoved Goro into the bloodied bathwater and drowned him. 

* * *

Goro woke up with a violent start, accidentally kicking Akira in the shin and strangling a scream in his throat. 

For one horrifying moment he had no idea where he was - but then Akira’s groggy,  _ ‘ow, what?’ _ snapped him into full lucidity and he stayed completely still, his chest rising and falling with burning, copper-tasting air. He could still feel that metallic, lukewarm water choking him and the unrelenting pressure against his neck, forcing his head down-

_ what. the.  _ **_fuck,_ ** he thought very calmly. 

Actually, no, he wasn’t calm. He was  _ not, _ but he was not going to panic either, or think about it. No, he was already stuffing that extremely disturbing nightmare - somewhere not in the forefront of his mind, and wiped at his wet cheeks hoping that was just sweat. 

“Ah, sorry,” he rasped as Akira sat up a little, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Uh, it’s fine,” Akira always was a little slow when roused from sleep, Goro found. Still, those grey eyes sharpened on him, squinting through the darkness, “Are you okay?”

“Fine- fine, I just… had a nightmare,” Goro said very quietly, “It was… stupid. Don’t worry about it.” 

“...wanna talk about it?”

Fuck no. Hell no. He wasn’t touching it with a million foot  _ pole. _

“No,” he said, “It’s fine.” 

Akira didn’t push, but he didn’t immediately lie down either. He was peering at him, still groggy but openly concerned, like if he stared hard enough he could see into Goro’s mind and find out what an absolute lunatic he was. 

Goro pointedly rolled over - away from Akira, even though the darkness made him want to cower against him instead. It was close to the time Akira would be getting up anyway to prepare for school, his eyes snagging on the bedside clock.

“Shouldn’t you get ready for school?” he asked, just as Akira’s alarm went off. 

Akira cursed and turned off his alarm, but didn’t immediately get out of bed. Instead slowly, he settled his hand on Goro’s shoulder, the weight warm and comforting, and gave it a squeeze. 

“I know I said it before but… you can talk to me about anything,” Akira told him softly, “I mean it. Okay?”

Goro said nothing, didn’t dare speak, and Akira sighed and pulled his hand away to get ready for school. He felt like a filthy coward and liar, and he curled up into a tiny ball and tugged the duvet over his head, hoping Akira never saw how his eyes stung with unshed tears. 

* * *

That set the tone for the day. 

Akira went to school and Goro called in sick. 

He hadn’t planned to, but an hour after Akira had left, Goro had started to feel…  _ strange. _ Unpleasantly so. That awful chill was also accompanied by nauseating heat flushes, and when he crawled out of bed to try and make himself semi-presentable, he ended up vomiting in the toilet until his abdominals were cramping and his chest burned and found him incapable of getting up again. 

Goro Akechi was actually  _ ill, _ on  _ today _ of all days. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he panted, slumped against the toilet as his head swum dizzyingly, “Ugh, I need to…”

He couldn’t  _ not _ go to the Palace today. This was his  _ very last chance _ to kill Okumura. If he called in sick and never went, then… well, god, he had to admit that was tempting, but he doubted Shido would take that as an acceptable excuse. No. Goro  _ had _ to go, come hell or high water. 

Through sheer determination, Goro managed to crawl from the toilet to the sink, which he gripped with white-knuckles as he washed his mouth out. That done, he pawed through his medicine cabinet, taking out a digital thermometer he never used and a packet of painkillers and fever reducers. 

He popped the thermometer in his mouth and checked the back of the painkillers and the fever reducers. He shouldn’t mix these two, apparently. 

_ ‘beep!’ _

Goro tugged the thermometer out of his mouth and winced at what he saw:  _ ‘39.3C’ _

“Ergh,” he said, and tore open the painkillers and fever reducers and popped two pills of each dry. He’ll doubt he’ll die from it. He wrinkled his nose against the overly bitter taste, dug out a cold pack and a heat pack from the medicine cabinet, and proceeded to shuffle his way out of the bathroom to the kitchen. 

He had a lot of work to do if he was to be presentable for today’s heist. 

* * *

Time moved weirdly, and all too soon Goro was meeting up with the others outside of Okumura’s Palace. He felt absolutely  _ awful, _ was fairly certain he looked it too, but had hit a strange daze of apathy where he no longer cared anymore. He looked like crap. Yay. Okay. Whatever. 

“Holy shit,” Sakamoto said when he caught sight of him, “What happened to you?”

“Life,” Goro muttered. 

Everyone was there - Akira was all but laser beaming with his gaze alone - and there was a pause where everyone exchanged uncertain looks. Goro watched them with a gimlet eye. 

“You know,” Ann said in a tone where she knew her attempt was going to be pointless but felt compelled to try anyway, “If you feel ill, then, um, you shouldn’t push yourself. We won’t be mad!”

“You look like you’re going to die,” Futaba added bluntly, “Like, literally.” 

“I’m fine,” Goro said stubbornly. 

“You’re white as a sheet,” Haru said, her face creased with open concern, “You don’t look well, Akechi.”

Goro leaned back on his heels and let his resolute posture speak for him, his gaze landing on Akira who had remained oddly quiet so far. His friend was looking at him, his expression entirely blank and inscrutable. He was thinking, clearly scheming for a way to kick Goro off the team while they went swanning into the Palace without him. 

“You’ll just go in after us, if we leave without you,” Akira said after a heavy pause, his tone utterly resigned, “Won’t you?”

Goro gave him a bright, mocking smile, “You know me so well, Kurusu.”

Akira heaved a sigh, a flicker of annoyance tinging his expression, “Fine, but you’ll be staying in the reserves until I say otherwise. I  _ mean _ it, Akechi.”

Normally, Goro would rankle at the command and hard stare Akira pinned him down with, but he capitulated easily enough. He knew how to compromise, and being in the reserves would mean less of a chance for Okumura to spy him and recognise him at an ill-timed moment. 

“That’s fine,” he said blithely. 

Akira gave him a suspicious look, clearly wrong-footed at how easily Goro agreed to those terms, “Um, well, good, then.” 

“If we have settled that,” Kitagawa spoke up, breaking the near awkward silence, “We should proceed with the infiltration.”

At Kitagawa’s words, everyone murmured their assent and they transitioned into the Metaverse. Goro felt a bit better once they were in the Palace proper, his ailment cushioned by the strength the Cognitive World shielded him in. Still, he couldn’t help but feel an ominous presence looming over him, and every time he glanced over his shoulder as they raced towards the treasure, he saw nothing. 

He did not see Futaba glancing over at him with a frown, her gaze piercing and suspicious. 

* * *

Okumura was a piece of shit in every single possible way, and that included fighting his Shadow. 

After dealing with his robots, witnessing his callousness in ordering Cognitive Haru to kamikaze them without an ounce of care, and how he sat in a useless, defeated slump after beating him down, Goro was  _ done.  _ So fucking done. He haunted the rear of the group like a vengeful spectre, his head pounding with a migraine that made dark spots wobble in his vision.

His chance was gone now, wasn’t it? Even if he wished to kill Okumura, there was no possible way he could do it now. All he could do was let this run its course, and maybe...

“You were behind all the breakdowns and mental shutdowns, weren’t you?”

Goro’s wavering focus sharpened like a blade, his head snapping up to glare past the group onto Okumura. The Shadow’s head was still bowed, but he shivered like he could sense Goro’s sudden, quelling gaze. All Okumura had to do was lift his head and actually  _ look _ at Goro, then the game would be up. He'll ruin everything if he opened his mouth. He'll-

**_kill him_ **

“I admit, I spent large sums of money to help my company grow, and to crush business competitors…” Okumura began weakly. 

“Answer me, dammit!” Sakamoto bellowed, “Did you do it or not!?” 

“N-Not personally!” Okumura cringed away, lowering his head even more, “I had a contract! All I did was make the requests to have them eliminated!”

**_kill him_ **

“Requests?” Morgana’s voice grew solemn, “Then there really is a mysterious criminal in people’s Palaces after all!”

“What kind of contract did you form?” Haru asked softly, “And with whom?”

**_kill him_ **

Goro’s hand fell to his pistol, and his mind abruptly, blessedly fell quiet and clear. Sakamoto shouted again, but the words were so distant and muted, they barely registered. The Palace rumbled, the floor shuddering beneath their feet, and Goro knew exactly what he had to do. It was strange, how his worries and fears so easily evaporated after so long tying himself into stressed knots about it, like he had stepped backwards out of his own body and let… 

**_i will do what needs to be done_ **

Things happened around him. Words were said. But they were unimportant. The other humans initiated their escape from the cognitive world, and  **_[----]_ ** made as if to follow, before swiftly doubling back to the Shadow they left behind. The distorted creature was still sobbing pathetically into the floor, unaware of the part he was to play. 

“Okumura,”  **_[----]_ ** said. 

The Shadow looked up - and his blue face blanched with terror when he recognised him. He recoiled and scrambled away, like that would save him, and  **_[----]_ ** easily kept pace, relaxed and calm as the Cognitive Distortion crumbled around them. This was fine. Death was not permanent in a collapse such as this. It will spit Goro out into the real world, aching and disorientated but alive. 

**_[----]_ ** knew from experience. 

“I-I didn’t tell them!” Okumura blubbered, “You were there! I didn’t tell!”

“You told them of our contract. That is enough.”

“Please, no! No!”

Wait. 

Abruptly, Goro was aware. It was a moment of disorientation. Okumura had backed himself up against the elevated ramp with nowhere else to go, and  **_[----]_ ** had the pistol raised and ready to fire, and Goro was watching - that wasn’t right. 

**_i told you i will do what must be done_ **

Goro couldn’t think - couldn’t breathe. His vision was going oddly spotty and lopsided- something was roaring in his ears- not the Palace, no, it was- Goro/ **_[----]_ ** lurched forwards, something-  _ something _ with its fist clenched around his brainstem, urging him onwards. He violently fought against it, but it was like clawing his way through thorny brambles with leadened limbs, smothering and suffocating-

**_stop struggling_ **

“Don’t kill me!” Okumura cried, and in the thick glass of his astronaut helmet, Goro could see his reflection. He was 

_...don’t… _

smiling

**_kill him_ **

the Detective Prince smile

_...don’t... _

a beautiful well-crafted smile

**_kill him_ **

with an eerie edge to it 

_...don’t…! _

something inhuman

**_kill him!_ **

amplified by 

_ DON’T! _

the bright gold of his eyes

**_KILL HIM!_ **

_ i’m not in control. _

Clarity slammed into him with the force of a wrecking ball.

He cried out, violently tearing himself away from where he’d been leaning over Okumura, trembling gun raised. Something laughed, wild and crazed, rattling the inside of his skull and making his vision flash with strange, bewildering colours. That pressure on his brainstem tightened, an audible  _ ‘CRRRRK’ _ that resounded everywhere and nowhere - his head felt ready to split in two. 

**_don’t deny your heart’s true wishes_ **

**_give in to your unbridled ‘rebellion’_ **

**_do what must be done_ **

Goro’s heart was a frantic creature trying to escape his ribcage as his arm shakily raised again, pointing the gun at the cowering Okumura’s head. He was gasping, lungs heaving, and his reflection in Okumura’s stupid fucking helmet looked- monstrous. He was still smiling, despite the clear terror in his wide, yellow eyes. He couldn’t- stop-  _ stop-! _

**_everything will be as it should once you pull the trigger_ **

**_do what needs to be done_ **

It was like drowning but not. He couldn’t see. That sickening weight was crushing his mind beneath its heel, dark and all encompassing, poisonous, its claws hooked into every nerve and puppetting his arm _ just so, _ the pistol aimed,  _ just like that, _ his trembling finger squeezing the trigger, gently, then harder,  _ harder,  _ until-

  
  
  
  
  
  


**_‘BANG!’_ **

  
  
  
  
  


okumura stared up at him

  
  
  
  
  
  


goro gasped 

  
  
  


he missed.

He fucking  _ missed. _

The round slammed into the ground just shy of Okumura’s thigh, ricocheting elsewhere, away, harmless, Goro’s shaking hand clamped painfully tight around his wrist. He was aiming the pistol downwards, his hand jerking and straining against the hold he had on his own arm, like he was fighting himself - mentally, physically,  _ literally _ . Something was writhing and screeching in the depths of his soul, violent and furious, and something else fought back, weaker and quieter but no less vicious- Robin, it was  _ Robin, _ and the other- the other thing was- was- 

**_HOW DARE YOU_ **

_...run… _

He obeyed. 

Goro bolted, blind, not caring where he ran in the collapsing Palace, just  _ away- _ away from the temptation, away from the angry screams chasing his heels- except it was in his head, and that frustration and anger was  _ his  _ frustration and anger, nauseous and alien but  _ his, _ dotting his vision and making it difficult to breathe.

**_go back!_** one part of him screamed, **_go back and finish the job! now! now!!!_**

_ don’t!  _ another part yelled,  _ don’t go back! don’t! don’t! _

He was being torn apart - viscerally,  _ literally, _ and his wild retreat staggered into something unsteady and weak, chest heaving as his heart felt like it was sundering into pieces. Loki was  _ screaming, _ deafening, overwhelming everything in a maddening haze of scarlet and choking iron. It was insanity, hot and all-consuming, scrabbling at his thoughts until his rationality frayed beneath the onslaught. The psychotic breakdown loomed, jaws ready to snap down on his psyche and snap it in half.

**_do i need to force your hand_ **

**_childish murderer?_ **

"No…!" Goro gasped, falling to his knees. Around him the Palace screeched - critical collapse imminent. Death. God, death couldn't come fast enough, no matter how temporary, "I'm not… I  _ won’t...!" _

**_it seems you have forgotten_ **

**_i am thou_ **

**_thou-_ **

_ "Shut up," _ Goro snarled,  “Shut up! You’re not me!”

**_don't you_ dare _reject me_**

The ground violently heaved beneath his feet, a muted roar, the Palace - collapsing - Goro felt his body bend to that red-fanged insanity, yet could still feel that little spark deep inside himself valiantly resisting the siren call of psychosis, hissing and snarling at the well-worn madness grasping at him with crimson claws. He reached out for that bright spark, numb fingers clawing at his mask, catching on the edges. 

He needed- he needed to-

“Rob-  _ Robin!” _ Goro gasped out, and tore off his mask - it practically crumbled from the barest of pressure,  _ “Robin Hood!” _

For one, heartstopping moment, there was no reply. Goro’s mask faded in a flash of dull blue embers, barely hot enough to warm his cold fingers, and the Palace wavered, the crumbling station snapping taut -  _ darkness, heaving, hell, hell, hell _ \- to elsewhere, one reality switched for another. The pressure inside of him surged, an alien, toxic satisfaction purring in the back of his mind: 

**_as i said, only rejection lies in your future_ **

**_you are alone_ **

Goro was drowning, desperately flailing for an outstretched hand that wasn’t there. Couldn’t breathe - sinking- sinking-  _ i’m sinking i’m sinking- _

**_no one will save you_ **

_ he isn’t coming, robin’s abandoned me too, _ Goro realised with a shrill kind of horror (terror), that dark hell looming over him, entombing him within its high, impenetrable walls, a bottomless pit where there was no sky to look at with wistful hope. He saw nothing, nothing but a flash of blue high above him, an illusion of light smaller than a-

no, not an illusion

It  _ was _ light, with fragile wings and a crystalline glow to it, untouched by the darkness that heaved around him. Goro was able to take a breath, and another, watching it, and he heard, from that same little spark inside of him, so pitifully small and weak and fragile, barely louder than a gasped breath, say:

_ don’t give up _

And that cloying darkness around him laughed mockingly, a lurch and  _ crnnch, _ the butterfly winked out of existence, squashed into nothing.

**_he already has_ **

_ no, _ Goro thought, finally able to think beyond this irrational, primal fear clouding his thoughts, watching the last little bits of glittering light of the butterfly disperse into nothing,  _ no, i haven’t, i haven’t given up! _

Because Goro Akechi was always, and always will be,  **spiteful** _. _ He would never simply roll over, he would never cower and cringe on his knees, and accept whatever cruelty was heaped upon him without a word. He may be weak, he may be nothing more than a peasant, scrambling in the dirt for whatever crumbs he could scavange, but he would always harbour this burning  _ spite _ in his heart until he  _ died, _ until he could claw his way up the legs of his superiors to bury his dagger into their empty, rotting hearts.

He doesn’t simply  _ give up. _ Not until he’s seen that tomorrow where Shido lies broken at his feet, grovelling for forgiveness, shattered beneath the humiliation he heaped on his mother until she  _ died from it!  _ He won’t give up until his  _ Justice _ is realised, until- until he sees that tomorrow  _ beyond _ Shido, a life without this heavy, burning rage eating him from the inside out. It was an impossible dream, but one that he wanted and  _ wanted-! _

Goro’s furious hope eclipsed his fear- 

**_no!_ **

-and heroic blue flames  _ ignited. _

Robin Hood lunged into being, a brilliant light, tiny in this awful darkness but bright all the same, forcing the dark hell to cringe away in disgusted frustration. Like shining a torch underneath a lifted rock, that choking, drowning darkness scuttled away like the nightmarish insect it was. Robin Hood boldly glared into that retreating darkness, and his long, protective shadow was warm. 

**_you’ll see that i’m right_ **

**_once they betray you..._ **

Cognitive reality lurched back into place. 

Okumura’s Palace was back to crumbling around him, almost blinding after that deep abyss he had been trapped inside. It was overwhelming, the sensations - noise, flashing lights, screeching metal and distance explosions. Goro heaved for air as he blindly reached up - and Robin reached out to him, his Persona’s large, warm hand enveloping his own, warm and steady. Goro hadn’t realised how cold he’d felt until then, shivering violently from a frigid chill clinging to him as cold sweat. 

Robin tugged his hand, gently, and it was only when the ground lurched beneath him again that Goro remembered - Palace, collapsing, imminent yet temporary death. 

“Just let it blow up,” Goro rasped, “It only hurts for a little bit.”

Robin shook his head and pulled his hand again, harder, urgently. 

Goro was forced to his feet, staggering drunkenly on trembling legs. His brain felt like it had been shoved through a blender, his thoughts fuzzy and disintegrating at the edges. His mind skirted from what just happened- 

_ that didn’t happen i imagined it i choked at the last minute with okumura that’s it it didn’t happen it didn’t that wasn’t  _ **_real_ ** _ a hallucination i just hallucinated that it wasn’t real please let that not be real it wasn’t it can’t be it wasn’t _

-and he supposed he made a bit of an alarming picture when Joker came sprinting towards him out of nowhere. The leader of the Phantom Thieves was uncharacteristically panicked, his eyes wide behind his mask and his face pale, strange shadows cutting across it from the wailing klaxons and bursts of light as parts of the space station collapsed around them. 

_ “Crow!” _ Joker barked once he reached him, not even hesitating to grab his arm in a bruising grip. He didn’t acknowledge Robin’s presence, not sparing the Persona a single glance as he started to pull at him back the way he came. With both Joker’s and Robin’s insistence, Goro was forced into a painful jog, Joker pulling one arm, and Robin the other, “What’re you  _ doing?!  _ Everyone else is out!”

“Sorry, I… I was...” 

Goro didn’t know what to say. Sorry, I was busy having a poorly timed psychotic break? 

So he didn’t finish - just let Joker practically haul him out of there while he was trapped in some sort of comatose daze. At some point Robin dismissed himself, but Goro’s mask didn’t return, and he didn’t really dwell on it, because by then the Palace finally gave out, and then he and Joker were leaping in the space between the two realities and- 

They both escaped by the skin of their teeth, the Palace erupting the split second after they had leapt out of the Metaverse. Goro could still feel the heat of the explosion against the nape of his neck, wobbling a little as he braced himself on his knees, his face sticky with clammy sweat. 

He felt awful. What just- what just  _ happened- _

_ don’t think about it, _ he snarled at himself, swiping at his forehead before straightening up,  _ do  _ **_not_ ** _ think about it. don’t.  _ **_don’t._ **

“What happened?!” Ann was suddenly in his personal space, checking him over like she expected to find him bereft of a limb or two, “We didn’t realise you weren’t with us until we were almost out, Goro!”

“Man, you’re lucky Akira managed to find you in time,” Sakamoto muttered. 

Akira said nothing. He looked utterly  _ furious _ , and- Goro saw it, a flash in his grey eyes -  _ suspicious.  _ It was almost damning in its intensity, Akira pinning him down with that thunderous gaze, all but daring him to lie.

Goro looked away. 

And lied. 

“Sorry, I… it seems I’m more ill than I thought,” he said quietly, not even feigning his exhaustion, “I had a dizzy spell and lost my sense of direction. Before I knew it, I had lagged behind all of you.”

Everyone stared at him in varying degrees of disbelief. 

“Wow,” Futaba said, breaking the silence, “He actually admitted being ill. Is he dying?”

Ann suddenly pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. He grimaced at the unwanted contact, but didn’t pull away, “Uh, Goro, you’re  _ really _ burning up. As in,  _ a lot.” _

“Entering the Metaverse when ill isn’t a good idea,” Morgana piped up, “It exhausts you when you’re healthy, so if you’re sick…”

“Looks like it’s bedtime for you, mister,” Futaba said. 

“Mmnh…” Goro didn’t bother protesting. He felt awful enough that crawling into bed and hibernating for a month sounded perfect. 

“He didn’t even protest… he really is ill!” Ann exclaimed, and turned to the oddly silent Akira, “Hey, you should probably take him home.” 

Akira watched him with dark eyes, his expression terrifyingly intense, “Yeah, I will.”

They all parted ways after that, the concern over Goro giving way to excitement and relief over Okumura’s successful change of heart. Haru promised to contact them if she heard anything regarding changes in personality or behaviour in her father, Morgana was unceremoniously dumped into Ann’s waiting arms (Mona only half-heartedly protested this, though he had given Akira a filthy look as Ann carried him away) and soon Akira was all but frogmarching Goro to the train station, his mouth pressed into a thin, unhappy line. 

“You’re angry,” Goro noted emotionlessly. 

“Of course I’m angry,” Akira said very,  _ very _ quietly,  _ dangerously, _ “You shouldn’t have been in the Palace  _ at all _ if you felt that ill. You could have  _ died.  _ Do you realise that? What if I didn’t find you? You would’ve  _ blown up _ and  _ died.” _

Goro hunched his shoulders a fraction, Akira’s sharply delivered words striking him as hard as anvils. Shido’s voice got soft and quiet like that when he was angry too. Well-trained instinct had him going silent, guardedly watching Akira beneath his eyelashes. 

Akira caught his look, and his expression softened, “I… don’t look at me like that. You really scared me, Akechi.”

Goro said nothing. 

Akira sighed and fidgeted with his fringe, looking frustrated; “...why did you hang back?”

“Like I said,” Goro murmured after a pause, “I got dizzy and disorientated. That’s all.”

“Right,” Akira’s tone flattened, “Okay.” 

He didn’t believe him. 

The rest of the journey back to his apartment was done in stifling, tense silence. Goro felt like he was in the middle of a verbal minefield, and he didn’t dare make a wrong move. He already had to tell Shido of his failure regarding Okumura, and the last thing he wanted was to have  _ Akira _ furious with him too. He was certain whatever tenuous grip he had on his composure would fracture into pieces if that happened. 

Goro unlocked his apartment and entered, Akira on his heels. They took their shoes off, and Goro… hovered awkwardly. He wasn’t sure what to say, or how to hold himself - instinct said to stand to attention like he was reporting to Shido, but that was stupid, so he fidgeted with his sleeves, keeping his chin dipped slightly as he waited. Normally Akira would take over his kitchen and make them dinner, but instead Akira was standing in the hallway frowning at him.

He felt like he was being picked apart under that intense gaze. 

“Why are you scared?” Akira asked him abruptly. 

“What…” Goro was blindsided by the question, and he floundered a little before saying, “Scared? What are you talking about? I’m not scared.”

“Nervous then,” Akira amended.

Goro swallowed. Akira’s stare was unwavering, and he had a feeling he wouldn’t be easily distracted by Goro’s usual charm this time. He felt cornered, and his pulse spiked at the realisation. 

“I’m- I’m just tired, Kurusu,” Goro said, mustering up his usual dismissive bravado, “That’s all.” 

Akira took an abrupt step towards him-

-and Goro was viscerally reminded of Shido, stepping right up into his space and- he backed up without thinking, a flinch, a shameful fucking  _ flinch, _ his nerves already rattled to pieces, and his back struck the wall with a solid  _ ‘thmp!’ _ that made the both of them freeze.

Akira was staring at him with a look of grim triumph, like he’d just been proven right about something deeply unpleasant. Ashamed, Goro averted his eyes, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. 

“Akechi,” Akira said, his voice painfully,  _ painfully _ gentle, “You know I’ll never hurt you, right?” 

_ “Don’t,” _ Goro snapped, abruptly, blisteringly  _ angry. _ He walked away from him but paused, unsure whether to go for the kitchen  _ (he broke a glass there last time) _ or the living room, and went for the living room instead. Akira followed him at a careful, respectful distance.

“I’m angry at you,” Akira continued insistently, “But I wouldn’t- you know? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable...”

Goro understood what he was getting at, but he refused to acknowledge it. His head hurt, he felt ill and feverish, and he was still kind of internally freaking out about whatever the hell happened with Okumura - he had  _ nothing _ in him right now to have this- this  _ talk _ about something so vulnerable with Akira of all people. He needed to call Shido too. He needed to  _ not _ fall into hysterical pieces, because he was fairly certain that the moment he tumbled into that terrified insanity he wouldn’t be able to climb back out. 

He could already feel it scrabbling at the edges of his brain. He felt brittle. He felt so fucking  _ fragile, _ like he only needed one more blow and he’ll just snap in half and die. He felt like Akira only needed to say  _ one  _ slightly annoyed  _ word  _ and he’d just burst into tears and not even feel embarrassed about it. God, he needed to cry. He really needed to fucking cry - he could feel the urge catching in the back of his throat. 

Pointless.  _ Pointless.  _ Swallow that down  _ right now. _

“Kurusu,” Goro said, and even to his own ears his voice sounded ready to crack, “Drop it. Please.”

Akira looked at him for a long moment and, mercifully, dropped it. 

“...okay, we’ll talk about it later,” Akira murmured, and frowned at him, “Maybe you should go to bed. You don’t look well.”

“I feel awful,” Goro confessed, sitting down on the sofa, then decided sitting was too exhausting and lied down instead, closing his eyes against the throbbing, pounding pain stabbing his temples, “Like I’m dying.”

“That’s what you get for going into a Palace when running a fever,” Akira muttered, sounding annoyed, before heaving a sigh, “Let me make you something.” 

Akira ambled off, to the kitchen no doubt, and Goro remained sprawled on the sofa, gazing up at the ceiling. He could feel his thoughts anxiously circling back to Okumura’s Palace, dying to pick at that- that super intense hallucination he had in there, and with Okumura himself, he… probably just choked. He’d been tearing himself apart on what to do regarding his murder for so long that he just- panicked when the moment came and imagined that whole… thing. 

Even in his own mind that reassurance sounded pathetically weak - but what was the alternative? That it  _ had _ happened and… 

No. Goro wasn’t going to entertain the idea of it. He viciously stuffed those looming memories down into the space where Loki lived and didn’t think about it. They just finished a Palace, so he didn’t have to worry about- about any of that crap right now. Loki, or Robin Hood, or- or anything. It was fine.  _ Fine. _ After he told Shido-

Goro’s heart stopped. 

After he told Shido… he had failed…

“Hey, I found a thermometer,” Akira’s voice broke through Goro’s numb horror, and his friend came walking around the sofa with a cup of something hot in one hand, and a digital thermometer in the other, “Do you think you can sit up?”

Goro sat up, desperately latching onto this topic change to distract himself from the pack of ravenous wolves his thoughts were becoming, “I’m not an invalid, Kurusu.”

“Of course not,” Akira said very indulgently, and handed him the thermometer, “Remember to keep it under your tongue and not talk until it beeps.”

Goro gave him a withering look and pointedly stuck the thermometer in his mouth. Akira gave him a pleased look, and set the cup down on the coffee table - it looked like coffee with almost too much milk, probably to offset the fact that it was cheap instant coffee and not the high quality beans Akira was used to. 

While they waited for the thermometer, Akira proceeded to grab the throw blanket Goro had stashed over the back of the sofa earlier that day and promptly swaddle Goro up in it. He glowered dully at the unnecessary fussing, even though he  _ had _ been feeling a little chilly. If he wanted to warm up he would’ve grabbed the damned blanket himself-

_ ‘beep!’ _

Akira plucked the thermometer out of his mouth before Goro had a chance to check; “Jesus, your temp’s  _ 39.3C.” _

“That’s not too bad,” Goro said. 

Akira gave him a look of utter disbelief, “It’s a really high fever!”

“It’s not 40C.”

“How did you live this long,” Akira said rhetorically, and pointed at him, “Don’t move. I’m making you soup.”

“What- I don’t even have- I don’t have soup stuff!” he shouted as Akira walked away with an expression of grim determination, and flopped back against the sofa with a low groan. Why was Akira such a  _ motherhen? _ All Goro wanted was to crawl into bed and fall into a coma, not… have soup.

His stomach gurgled a low disagreement.

“Shut up,” he muttered, tipping himself sideways and curling up into a sullen ball on the sofa, bundled underneath the comfy throw blanket. Despite the odd shiver or two, he felt surprisingly cosy and comfy, and it took barely any effort at all to slip into some strange, fitful doze that didn’t feel like a doze at all, sliding into a dream where he was both lucid and not. 

A dream where he was wandering in a dark woods completely shrouded in impenetrable fog. Bogwater slowed his strides, clinging to him with cold, clinging mud, and empty, yellow eyes peered at him from beneath the water’s filthy surface, dead but alive, watching, watching as he became more and more lost, and things became darker and darker…

But he couldn’t stop, he had to keep walking, because behind him he could hear something  _ else _ wading in through the water, slow and sure, unhurried, and with every struggling, floundering step, it drew closer, and closer, and things became darker, and darker, and became more and more lost, until-

“Hey.”

-he woke up. 

Goro blinked his eyes open. He could smell stagnant water, his body damp with sweat, and he was confused when he saw Akira leaning over him and not the starless black sky that had been in his dream. 

“You okay?” Akira asked him, reaching out to gently press the back of his hand against his forehead. The contact drew Goro further into reality, “You’re really burning up.”

Goro felt like he was burning up. He was abruptly, stiflingly  _ hot, _ and he grunted, weakly kicking the throw blanket off him and onto the floor. Almost immediately he was freezing again, and Akira wordlessly leaned down to pick up the blanket and tuck it around him. 

“Maybe I should call Takemi,” Akira muttered, half to himself. 

“Don’t,” Goro rasped, “No quacks.”

“She isn’t a quack,” Akira said in exasperation, “Why do you keep calling her that?”

“She sells illegal and experimental drugs to high school students,” Goro muttered, and Akira had nothing to say to that. Instead his friend frowned at him, and brushed his sweat-damp hair out of his eyes, carefully tucking a few locks behind his ear. 

“What is it with you and doctors, huh?” Akira said, absentmindedly stroking his hair, “How about the hospital?”

“And have it turn up on the news the next day?” Goro sneered, turning his face away from the strangely affectionate gesture. His head was pounding. Dehydration, he summarised, “‘Detective Prince admitted to hospital! Is it drugs?’ You know what the media are like.”

Akira grimaced and straightened up, conceding the point to him, “I got you soup. You feel well enough to eat it?”

No, Goro felt like he was going to die. 

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, knowing he needed something in his empty stomach. 

A few minutes later and he was sitting up - or, rather, he was half-lounging against the arm of the sofa in a pathetic huddle, unenthusiastically stirring his chopsticks in the takeout miso soup Akira had got him. The tofu looked unappetising, which was odd since he  _ liked _ tofu, but his stomach was vehemently protesting eating anything… despite also protesting being  _ empty. _

_ make up your damn mind, _ he thought sourly. 

Meanwhile, Akira kept glancing at him. Not little glances either. No, sharp, scrutinising glances, his expression utterly unreadable as he logged away every single movement and twitch of expression he made, like he was dangerously close to solving whatever complex puzzle Goro had confounded him with. It made him fidgety, and his appetite even less, chewing the inside of his cheek as he felt increasingly listless.

What did Akira want? Wasn’t he angry at him? Suspicious? Goro wasn’t thick, Akira definitely suspected him of something from loitering back in Okumura’s Palace - and in hindsight what a  _ stupid thing _ he did. If Goro had followed through and actually  _ shot _ Okumura, he might as well have stood on a table and bellowed at the Phantom Thieves that he was Black Mask. The Thieves as a whole weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed, but Akira, Futaba and Morgana had more than a few braincells they could rub together. They would’ve figured it out. 

So why did he try that? A lapse of sanity? Desperation?

Goro speared a piece of tofu with his chopsticks and decided that he wasn’t hungry after all. 

Akira frowned when Goro put down his untouched soup on the coffee table, “You didn’t eat anything.”

“I don’t think I could keep it down,” he admitted, slouching back against the sofa and closing his eyes. He felt so exhausted, “I don’t feel good.”

Akira touched his forehead again, letting out a small hiss of concern, “I think your fever’s getting worse.” 

Goro pushed his hand away, letting out a huff, “I’m not seeing the quack. I’m fine.” 

“You  _ just _ said you weren’t feeling good,” Akira said in clear frustration, not looking away from him when Goro’s phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table, “Look, I won’t take you to Takemi’s, but at least try drinking something? So you don’t die of dehydration?”

Goro didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the screen of his phone, the stark edges of a number he was well-acquainted with on his  _ burner _ flashing bright. His heart practically froze in his chest, that achy fatigue from his fever all but evaporating when his fight-or-flight instinct kicked into full gear, leaving him abruptly energised and numb to pain. 

Only one person used that number.

“Akechi?”

Akira’s voice, soft and worried, snapped him out of his petrified state. Without looking at him, Goro snatched up his phone and practically leapt off the sofa like he’d been burned, almost tripping over the blanket that nearly tangled around his ankles. 

“Sorry, I- I need to take this,” he said, feeling it vibrate angrily in his palm. An awful, swooping sensation of raw dread yanked down on his belly as his brain latched onto that descriptor: angrily. Angry. Shit, Shido was going to be  _ pissed,  _ “I need to-”

The phone stopped. Goro missed the call. 

_ (fuck) _

Akira was staring at him narrow-eyed. Suspicious? Suspicious. Goro abruptly felt claustrophobic beneath the weight of that searching gaze. 

“Who-” Akira began, interrupted when Goro’s phone buzzed again. Same number. Somehow the noise sounded more furious. 

Goro turned away from him and strode for his balcony. He heard Akira stand up behind him but he didn’t break stride for a moment, walking outside and slamming the door shut behind him. A pitiful defence, but if he spoke quietly Akira shouldn’t be able to eavesdrop. 

He huddled in the far corner of the balcony, the air painfully cold against his flushed skin, and answered the call; “Sir.”

_ “Ah, so you finally decide to pick up, huh? I’ve been calling your burner for the past  _ **_day_ ** _ , Akechi.” _

Had he? Goro hadn’t-

...of course he hadn’t. Goro didn’t bring it with him, in case one of the Phantom Thieves (Futaba) got their hands on it, and after the absolute nightmare that was today, he had been so exhausted and wiped out he just… kept it in his drawer, out of Akira’s sight… 

_ (fuck) _

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” Goro said, feeling cold and clammy in a way that wasn’t due to the fever, “I’ve been busy-”

_ “Okumura?” _

“Yes,” god, fucking  _ god, _ “I… regarding his… regarding his Palace…”

_ “It’s unlike you to be so  _ **_ineloquent,”_ ** Shido remarked, silky soft and falsely concerned,  _ “Is something the matter, Akechi?” _

Goro wanted to launch his phone off the balcony. He wanted to watch it sail out of his hand and shatter into a million pieces, cutting Shido off from him utterly - but that wouldn’t work because Shido knew where he lived, where he worked, where his school was. That claustrophobic feeling grew and grew, bizarrely, but it wasn’t walls squeezing down on him, it was reality itself, invisible chains of obligations and unwanted loyalty throttling the next words in his throat. He was trapped, trapped trapped  _ trapped- _

_ get me out get me out get me out, _ something crazed in him chanted desperately, the bright lights of Tokyo’s skyline bleeding of all colour - dark,  _ dark, _ a starless black sky. 

“The Phantom Thieves have… changed his… heart,” Goro managed to choke out, blinking away wavering visions of the nearby buildings stretching high as unscalable, crushing walls, “His Palace is… gone.”

Silence. 

_ “I see,” _ Shido said, calm as anything,  _ “That’s unfortunate.” _

Goro said nothing. He anxiously wiped his palm on his sweat-damp shirt. 

_ “I suppose I have been placing you under a lot of stress,” _ Shido murmured, his voice gentle - alarmingly, terrifyingly gentle,  _ “Two years, you’ve been loyally serving me, working yourself to the bone. It stands to reason that eventually you’d… burnout.” _

“I-” Goro started. 

_ “No, no, I understand,” _ Shido purred,  _ “I do, I really do. You know what, don’t worry about it, Akechi.  _ **_I’ll_ ** _ deal with Okumura. You… take a rest. I have a big job for you in the near future, and I want you in  _ **_perfect_ ** _ condition for it, okay?” _

Red flags were flashing in his mind’s eye, as vivid and dangerous as a charging bull screaming down on him. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, but Goro had no choice but to say, “Yes, sir.”

_ “Good boy. Rest up and… keep an eye on the news for me, alright?” _

Shido hung up. 

Goro exhaled roughly, his hand trembling as he locked his phone and stared at the dark, inert screen. What the hell…

Shido took that too well. 

He rubbed his face, grimacing when he felt hot sweat against his fingertips, and entered his apartment. He almost ran over Akira, who had been hovering near the balcony doors, but he didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with him right now, so Goro walked straight past him and to his bedroom, hearing Akira immediately follow him. 

“Akechi?” Akira asked hesitantly, worried, “Who was that? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Goro said, feeling like he was breathing in raw fire, “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”

He entered his bedroom and wrenched open his bedside drawer. He violently threw his phone in there and slammed his drawer shut hard enough that the whole thing almost tipped the lamp over. Akira was hovering awkwardly in his periphery. 

“Um,” Akira started. 

Goro said nothing. He didn’t know what to do. 

So he stared at his drawer instead, clenching and relaxing his hands, while Akira stood there and stared at him. Something in him quivered, drawing up so painfully taut Goro belatedly recognised it as the childish urge to cry. But he wouldn’t. It wouldn’t solve anything. It was a pointless emotion. 

He swallowed the burning lump down. 

“I’m just… tired...” Goro said, and it wasn’t even a lie, “...I’m... really tired...”

“...okay,” Akira said, a tinge of wariness in his voice, “Why don’t you get ready for bed and, uh, I’ll make you some coffee?”

Goro should make a quip about Akira lowering himself to making instant coffee, since that was all Goro had here, but he couldn’t force the words out. He just sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at the floor. 

After a moment of unsure hovering, Akira left him alone. 

Alone. 

Goro hunched his shoulders, hugging himself, and could only think that in that deep dark pit. Even though he told himself it never happened, it was just a figment of his shattered imagination brought on by stress, his thoughts kept veering back to it - that cold, freezing isolation, trapped at the very bottom of an inescapable hole, where no one could hear him no matter how loudly or desperately he screamed. 

Alone. 

_ but that’s not true, _ something in him whispered,  _ robin came to save you. akira came to save you. you’re not alone. _

Robin Hood was  _ himself, _ a naive, stupid child that still believed that one day Justice will prevail and his shitstain of a father will be punished. And Akira? He didn’t know- didn’t know he was Black Mask, and once he knew… 

**_(you are alone)_ **

...he’d abandon him. 

**_(no one will save you)_ **

That tomorrow he wished for… it really was impossible, wasn’t it?

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ (don’t give up) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate okumura's boss fight so i didn't write it bc fuck those robots seriously


	23. AKIRA XII: House of Cards

The days that follow Okumura’s defeat pass in a fragmented collection of thoughts and worries that punctuate the routine that Akira is very quick to establish.

This particular routine, of course, revolves around Akechi- as most things in Akira’s life tend to these days. While causation of said routine is dependent on the fact that although several days pass, Akechi doesn’t seem to be getting any better.

Akira knows this because he makes sure to faithfully show up at Akechi’s apartment every day after school. After all, Akira takes his role as boyfriend very seriously, and so Akechi would have had to physically bar the doors shut in order to stop Akira from taking care of him. Even then, Akira could probably find a way in, he was a phantom thief, after all.

It’s somewhere between the third and fourth day after Okumura’s defeat (Akira’s not sure of the specifics) when he, as per usual, heads to Leblanc after school to grab an overnight bag. At this point he probably should have been considering keeping some of his things over at Akechi’s apartment, but Akechi hadn’t suggested it, and so it felt like a very forward thing to do…no matter that he’d been staying over his place practically every night recently.

Only, on this day in particular, the moment Akira sees his bed he takes a minute to fall down onto it like a glorified sack of potatoes.

Closing his eyes he takes a deep breath and tries to summon the energy to gather what he needs before heading back out to catch the train to Akechi’s apartment. He considers making himself coffee before deciding that that sounds like a gargantuan effort, and he knows if he asks Sojiro he’d just tell him to make it himself.

A familiar weight jumps up onto his chest and he opens his eyes to see Morgana’s bright blue gaze peering down at him.

“You okay, Joker?” Mona asks him, and Akira gives him his best attempt at a reassuring smile, raising a hand to lightly boop his nose.

“Yeah, I just need a minute.”

Morgana crinkles his nose in response, but doesn’t swat at his hand, instead settling in as a comforting warm weight on top of his chest. In truth, Akira had missed having him around the past few nights that he’d spent at Akechi’s apartment, and was planning on bringing Morgana with him this time since Akechi hadn’t been exactly up to anything sexual in nature with how ill he was. Morgana was probably going to complain to high hell about how hot Akechi was keeping his apartment, but still, it’d be nice having him around. Comforting, at the very least.

It really felt as if everything had been happening in a rush since the moment they reentered the palace after sending the calling card. That horrible boss fight with Okumura, immediately followed by the harrowing escape from the palace, during which Akira had at some point realized that Akechi was no longer with them. A realization that was the catalyst for the mind-numbing fear that had dictated his every thought and move from that moment on. Nothing else mattered, the only thought Akira had was that he’d lost him. Somehow, _impossibly_...Akechi was gone from his life forever in an instant. Maybe he’d been too ill and had managed to get himself crushed under some part of the crumbling palace and then it’d be all Akira’s fault that he’d lost him.

It was _terrifying_.

Yet as time and distance from the moment quelled the previously present anxiety, Akira finds himself dwelling on something that he was only really finding himself thinking about now, far after the fact.

“Hey Mona,” he asks slowly, his voice quiet in the large space making up his attic room. “Can your mask vanish for any reason other than persona summoning?”

“No,” Mona answers after a moment, sounding a little confused by the question. Akira can’t exactly blame him. “It’s a part of you.”

Akira had figured that was the case, and yet, he was almost positive that when he’d run back to get Akechi, his mask had been gone. Which he remembers because it had left him with an unobstructed view of how ghostly pale Akechi’s face had been, even though, somehow, Robin Hood hadn’t been around either.

It was definitely…weird. Akira wasn’t sure quite what to make of it.

There was one possibility that had been bouncing around in the back of his mind for a while now, one that he didn’t like to lend much credence to for the sole reason that it was an idea based on pure impossibility. Akechi couldn’t… No, he was a persona user, it’d be impossible.

And yet…

He hesitates on his next question.

“Mona,” he says softly after a moment. “Can a person…lose their persona abilities?”

Morgana lifts his head off his chest to stare at him. Although he seems surprised by the question, he tilts his head as he seriously considers it.

“Well, yeah…” he answers finally. “I mean, I obviously haven’t seen it happen. But it has to be possible.”

“How?” Akira asks, his voice low.

“When you lose sight of your true self.”

At Morgana’s answer, Akira feels something deep in his insides twist, and he focuses his gaze on the ceiling beams far above his head. He finds himself thinking of Akechi and his far too many masks, and of how his illness only began once the two of them started dating. While that probably wasn’t the root cause, that would be a profound change of some sort, and maybe that would be enough to…

He closes his eyes, unable to allow his head to complete that thought. There’s the feeling of small paws kneading gently into the material of his shirt, and he opens his eyes to find Morgana once again gazing at him in clear concern.

“Why are you asking?”

“It’s nothing,” Akira answers automatically, only to realize his mistake when he can practically see Mona putting things together in his head in the following silence. In a brief moment of panic, Akira says the first thing that comes to mind that could deter his thought process to something far less hard to think about. “Do you think I could have a palace?”

It’s intended as a joke, something lighthearted enough that it’d assuage Morgana’s worries with the idea that it was just Akira ‘being weird again’. Only the words escape his lips with a little too much weight to them, his intended humor shattered by the slight crack in his voice that surprises even him.

This...hadn’t really been the topic change he was intending.

“What?! No!” Morgana says perhaps a little too quickly. “Why would you have a palace?”

He shrugs, suddenly regretting throwing himself under the bus. Sure he’d considered what his palace might look like on occasion, but that was normal. Everyone probably did it...right? It wasn’t something he should even be thinking about right now, with everything else going on. A small inconsequential worry.

“Look,” Morgana says gently, pulling Akira from his thoughts. “I know you’ve had it pretty hard, but you’re not alone. You have the others, and...you also have me.” With a low rumbling purr, Morgana adds, “We’re a team, you and I.” And he bumps his head against Akira’s hand, leaning into it when Akira scratches him gently behind the ears.

It maybe wasn’t the best defense for Akira not having a palace, but he was moved nonetheless. He also knew that he’d have to admit his concerns about Akechi to Morgana eventually, and he knew that he _could_ , he just…wasn’t even sure what his thoughts were about that yet.

For all he knew, he was remembering things wrong. He had been under a lot of stress. It was entirely possible that he had just missed something in his panic and confusion, and Akechi had been wearing his mask or Robin Hood had been somewhere lingering in the backdrop all along.

Everything was jumbled and confused, and Akira…needed time to think.

So, for now, he just gives Morgana a small smile and tells him, “I know we are. Thank you Mona.” Before proceeding to wrap his arms around his small feline form, crushing him into a hug.

“Hey, stop smothering me!” Morgana yowls predictably, trying to squirm out of his hold, and Akira finds that his heart feels a little lighter.

***

On October 11th, six days after Okumura’s palace is destroyed, Akira’s just finishing getting ready for school in Akechi’s bathroom when he receives a message from Haru in the group chat.

_**[0712] Haru:** Sorry for messaging you all this early in the morning. It seems my father will be holding an urgent press conference._

It’s the very thing they’d been waiting for to confirm that the change of heart had been successful. So, seeing it comes as a bit of a relief, even if Akira’s not really sure why he’d been nervous. In truth, he supposes he’s been on edge lately in general, considering he’s practically taken up _worrying_ as a part-time job. At this rate his hair was going to go grey before he returned back home, and then he would have to explain to his parents that the color was natural and not _another_ act of teenage rebellion.

Stepping back into the bedroom, Akechi’s eyes open blearily, obviously only just waking up. His entire apartment is still ridiculously hot, more akin to a sauna than an actual living space, and yet the blanket is tucked all the way up to his chin. Akira is half afraid he’s going to give himself a heat-stroke. The past few nights Akira had taken to laying on top of the blankets in nothing but his boxers and a t-shirt and still felt like he was slowly roasting in an oven, and yet Akechi still frequently complained about being cold. Probably a combination of fever chills and Akechi’s normal cold-blooded tendencies, if Akira had to guess.

Akechi doesn’t say anything as he continues to regard him, somehow still looking exhausted despite how much he’d been sleeping lately, and Akira fidgets a little under the weight of his gaze.

“The change of heart took place,” Akira tells him, assuming he hasn’t checked his phone yet. “Okumura is holding a press conference.”

Dropping his gaze, Akechi focuses his attention on a spot on the floor, his expression unreadable. “When is it?” he asks after a moment.

Akira checks the group chat, now alive with messages from his friends, and quickly navigates to where Haru had mentioned the time.

“Tonight at eight.”

Akechi nods slowly at that, still bundled beneath his blankets, and Akira finally crosses the room to sit beside him on the bed. He’s not sure if the tense atmosphere is all in his head or not- if maybe things would be different, easier, if he remained in blissful ignorance and continued to pretend that everything was absolutely fine. Now there was an air of secrecy that seemed to permeate the air, a certain anticipation for their house of cards they’d carefully built to suddenly come crashing down around them.

Reaching to place a hand on Akechi’s blanket covered shoulder, Akira hesitates before dropping it to the bed beside him instead, thoughtlessly pulling at a loose string he finds. Gathering himself together, Akira forces himself to sound causal when he asks his next question.

“Do you think he’ll talk about the mental shutdowns?”

He instantly feels Akechi’s gaze on him, and Akira meets his eyes, searching for any kind of reaction or clue that would let him know what the hell was going on in that head of his. There’s a flicker of something that he finds, _uncertainty_ maybe, but it’s fleeting and gone before Akira can make any sense of it.

“How should I know?” Akechi says in a low even drawl, sounding as dead and tired as he looks. “If I had to guess, probably.”

And with that, Akechi curls tighter into a ball with a visible shiver. With worry taking its frequent place at the forefront of his brain, Akira drops his half-hearted attempt at questioning and pushes some of Akechi’s hair back to feel his forehead, only to find it as warm as it has been.

“You’d think your fever would have broken by now,” Akira says, brushing a few more strands of hair back behind his ear, watching with a small smile as Akechi’s eyes close contentedly at the gentle attention.

“My immune system must be shit,” Akechi tells him, peeking an eye open. “And don’t you dare mention sending me to that quack again.”

Akira rolls his eyes, taking his hand back. “Yeah,” he says, “I got the point after you threatened to pour hot soup in my lap the last time.”

He earns a small smirk for his effort. “Good,” Akechi says, finally stretching out with a small _nng_ sound, making Akira think that he has absolutely no right to be as cute as he is. He watches as Akechi’s gaze then flicks to the phone still held in Akira’s other hand as he asks; “What else are they saying?”

“You have your own phone, you know.”

“Mmm...riveting observation,” Akechi says, making absolutely no attempt to move any part of his body out of his blanket cocoon.

“Ass,” Akira mutters even as he listens to him anyway, skimming through the still ongoing conversation in the group chat. They were still on the topic of the press conference, the only thing he’d missed was them questioning Haru on the condition of her father, which all sounded pretty standard of all their target’s who’d undergone a change of heart.

_**[0716] Futaba:** where should we watch it tonight?_

_**[0716] Ann:** oh yeah! we should all watch it together!_

Looking back at Akechi, Akira asks; “You up for a viewing party?”

Rather predictably, he earns a withering look.

“I can think of several hundred ways death would be preferable.”

_**[0717] Me:** I don’t think Akechi’s going to be able to make it._

_**[0717] Ann:** oh thats right, how is Goro?_

_**[0718] Me:** sick enough that he should probably see a doctor, but since he doesn’t want to do that, I’m doing the best I can to help._

_**[0719] Ryuji:** that really sucks dude_

_**[0719] Ann:** you sure he doesn’t want to come? he’d probably like to see okumura get humiliated with how much he hates him_

_**[0719] Ann:** uh no offense Haru!_

_**[0719] Haru:** No worries, none taken!_

_**[0720] Futaba:** he could still watch it at home without watching it with all of us_

_**[0720] Ann:** I guess…_

_**[0720] Me:** we can have the viewing party at Leblanc and he can always come if he feels up to it tonight._

_**[0721] Ryuji:** oh i know why dont we have it at akechis apartment and bring the party to him!!?_

_**[0721] Ann:** oh thats actually a good idea Ryuji!_

_**[0721] Futaba:** would he even want us over?_

“They’re talking about possibly having it here.”

“I’ll bolt the doors shut and set my apartment on fire,” Akechi says flatly in response, sounding a little too serious in a way that makes Akira think he might not actually be joking.

“A little extreme, but okay,” Akira says while typing out his response in the group chat.

_**[0722] Me:** He’s uh, not really up to company_

“I feel like death, Kurusu,” Akechi continues in explanation. The fact that he was openly willing to admit that only speaking to how awful he’s been feeling. “Why the hell would I want everyone in my apartment? Sakamoto is a headache to listen to on a good day.”

As the rest of the group agrees that Leblanc would be the best place for them to meet, Akira finally pockets his phone and turns his full focus on Akechi who now appears disgruntled at the very thought of having people in his living space. There’s a strange little flutter in Akira’s chest at the thought that _he_ was welcome here when no one else was, even if Akechi probably understood by this point that he couldn’t keep Akira away if he tried.

“I know, hedgehog,” Akira tells him, sounding maybe a little too fond. Akechi scrunches up his nose at the nickname, and it’s adorable enough that Akira has no choice but to lean down and kiss him.

“Don’t you have to get to school?” Akechi asks once they part, his cheeks slightly flushed and actively avoiding Akira’s eyes.

“Yeah, yeah I’m going,” Akira says with a soft smile and finally rises from the bed. Collecting his bag from the ground, he adds; “Try not to miss me too much.”

“Try not to die on your way there,” Akechi quips back.

“Aww, I knew you cared about me,” Akira responds. Turning towards the door, he hesitates for a moment before looking back at Akechi still cocooned in his nest of blankets. “I’ll um, talk to you later.”

Akechi just grumbles something in response before he finally turns over in bed, facing away from him.

***

That night, Akechi rather predictably, chooses to remain home while the rest of the Phantom Thieves gather in Leblanc.

Sojiro had closed early to give them the place to themselves since he didn’t get many customers Tuesday nights anyway, or so he said. And it was a well known fact that the TV Akira had in his room probably would have been better off in the trash and wasn’t exactly the best for viewing parties.

The others are sitting together at a booth, laughing and eating the curry that Sojiro had left for them. Meanwhile, Akira stays behind the counter, idly cleaning the countertop and finding himself lost in thought again.

From the corner of his eye he watches as Haru slides out of the booth from where she’d been sitting next to Ryuji, and makes her way to come sit at the counter. Taking the stool next to the one Akechi usually occupied, she offers Akira a kind smile, and he admits to feeling a little bit comforted by her presence. Haru had that aura about her, not quite motherly, but genuinely pleasant and refined in a way more suited for people far older than she was. It was almost sad in a way, and yet Akira couldn’t help but find a bit of commonality with her there- the both of them being people from wealthy families who had to grow up a little too fast.

“Are you okay, Akira-kun?” She asks gently. “You seem tired.”

Akira tries to return her smile, even while knowing it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m alright, Haru.”

She nods slowly in response, looking lost in thought. As silence fills the air between them, Akira busies himself by pouring her another cup of coffee since he knew she’d finished her first one a little bit ago. When he slides it in front of her, she thanks him with a grateful smile and takes a small sip of it before placing it back down on the counter.

“How’s Akechi-kun?” She asks him, looking honestly concerned. “I know that he really didn’t look well when we were leaving father’s palace, but I was hopeful that he’d be better by now.”

“Yeah, he really hasn’t improved much since then.” Akira shrugs, not wanting to betray his worry even if it was just between the two of them. He was still the leader here, so it was important that he acted as if he had everything handled, no matter if he felt like he did or not. His friends all had their own worries, Haru especially, and Akira worried enough about Goro Akechi that it could count for all of them combined.

Besides...he never felt great when he talked about Akechi to the others when he wasn’t around. He was still a bit of a mystery, as well as a private person, and so Akira didn’t want to exactly cross any lines he wasn’t supposed to cross.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Haru says, her tone genuine. “I could always try making something you could bring over to him.”

Once again, Akira can’t help but find himself surprised by what a kindhearted person Haru was. He hadn’t even known her for that long, and already it was easy to consider her a good friend. And he knew for a fact that the others felt the same, as leader of the team he had picked up on how well and naturally she mixed in with the others when fighting in the Metaverse. The only one who seemed to be giving her some trouble was Akechi, but well, Akechi also hadn’t been feeling well and so probably wasn’t really in the mood to be making friends at the moment. But Akira was sure that given a little time he’d warm up to her, and he could see the two of them getting along well.

“Thanks for the offer, Haru,” Akira says to her, “but I’ve got it covered.”

Haru nods, not looking even slightly bothered at having her offer turned down. “You cook for him a lot, don’t you?” she asks thoughtfully, her expression brightening as she adds; “It’d make me happy if you maybe took some vegetables from my garden once they’re ready! I’m sure they’ll be better than the ones you can buy at the store. Or well, at least I hope.”

The last part she says with a bit of doubt in her voice, as if she’s really not too sure of that.

“I’m sure they’ll be great,” Akira tells her anyway, despite having no basis to judge her actual gardening skills.

“Thank you!” She says with a warm smile, pausing a moment to take another sip of her drink. “Also um, I don’t think I ever got the chance to thank you for letting me join the team. I’ve never been a part of something this big before, and I’m excited, but also a little nervous... Do you really think my father’s change of heart will work?”

Akira finds himself a bit surprised at her admittance, although he supposes it was only natural for her to be nervous, it was her father after all, no matter how disgusting of a human being he happened to be. Of course, Akira was also nervous, but for other reasons- most notably what it was that Okumura was going to disclose during this press conference. If he talked at all about the mental shutdowns then there was a chance he might mention who was behind them. The person pulling the strings…and if that person just so happened to have ties to Akechi then, well.

Well, Akira would finally get his answer, or at the very least, something a little more concrete he could work with.

“Having doubts?” Akira asks, making sure to keep his tone neutral, betraying nothing of what was going on in his head.

“It’s just that...I’m so happy I got to meet and know all of you,” she says sincerely. “And well, I guess I can’t help but feel as if everything is going a little too perfectly. It’s actually a bit frightening…”

Akira doesn’t really know what to say to that. So, he stays silent, giving her a small understanding nod in place of words. If she’s bothered by his lack of response, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she stares down into the contents of her coffee cup as if it might hold some kind of answer to what’s troubling her. Several moments pass by in comfortable silence, punctuated only by the sound of the TV and the voices of their friends carrying over from their spots at the booth seats.

“...I think I’m just overly cautious because of my circumstances up until recently,” Haru says eventually. “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

Suddenly feeling a little bad for not immediately reassuring her, Akira tries his best to think like a leader, and not like the worried mess of a teenager that he felt like far too often.

“It makes sense that you’re nervous,” he says slowly, choosing his words carefully. “But things have been going well so far, and we’ve been doing this for a while. I don’t see why anything would change now. We did everything as we usually do, and you were a great help.”

He hates how plastic his words sound, like a collection of platitudes that would make Akechi’s detective prince persona proud. Akira _thinks_ he means what he says, and yet he suddenly finds his words falling flat in comparison to how genuine Haru’s been with him.

 _Because you won’t admit you’re worried too,_ he thinks to himself before pushing that unwelcome thought to the back of his mind.

“Yes, thank you,” Haru says with a smile, as if Akira’s words actually meant something to her. Maybe they did. “You’re probably right.”

He gives her a nod, but before he can either think of something else to say or try for a different subject, Ann cuts in.

“Oh hey,” she says. “The press conference is starting.”

Looking to the TV on the wall, sure enough Okumura is standing there on screen, looking a lot like an ordinary guy and not like the monster of a man that he’d proven himself to be.

“Father…” he hears Haru murmur, and Akira can only imagine the mixture of emotions she must be feeling. Hopefully, no matter what happened, things would be better for her after this. Okumura might be scum, but Haru at the very least deserved to have something good come from all this.

Still, Akira finds himself tapping his fingers somewhat anxiously against the counter, wishing he had a pen or something with him that he could twirl. As Okumura opens his mouth and begins to speak, a genuine apology for his faults as a business owner spilling out, the reality of the situation fully begins to sink in.

Something soft presses against his restless hand, and Akira looks over to see Morgana standing on the counter beside him, obviously having crossed over from the booth table at some point. The pads of his paw are warm against the back of Akira’s hand for a moment before he retracts it, giving Akira a slight nod before he turns his attention back to the TV.

Akira takes a deep breath, and follows his lead, catching the start of the next question asked by a reporter.

 _“We heard that dozens of your employees were forced to resign due to mysterious illness,”_ the journalist says. _“Furthermore, these happened to be officials who stood against your proposal for overseas expansion. The same thing also happened to executives at competing companies who were looking to expand abroad. Is all of this true?”_

 _“Yes,”_ Okumura answers.

_“Was it all coincidence?”_

In a momentary bout of panic, Akira has half the mind to get up and turn the TV off. Wants to push his friends out of Leblanc, as if that would somehow stop them from finding out about whatever was coming next. Because here Akira had been banking on possibly getting the name of who Akechi was working for, _if_ Akechi was the Black Mask as he’d theorized- but what that wasn’t exactly the case? It suddenly hits him that if Okumura said _Akechi’s_ name outright in correlation with the mental shutdowns…

...Then what the fuck was Akira supposed to do?

_“We’d like some answers.”_

_“About that… :_ Okumura says, clearly preparing to reveal something big. Monumental. Something that could change everything. _“I have a critical piece of information to announce here today.”_

Morgana’s paw jabs lightly at his hand again. “He’s about to say who’s really behind the mental shutdowns,” he says, voice low, clearly meant for Akira’s ears alone.

“...I know.”

_“I-”_

And that’s all Okumura manages to get out before he _chokes_ , and everything _does_ change, just not in the way that Akira ever could have expected.

Akira watches in mute horror as Okumura clutches at his chest with his mouth parting open in guttural pained sound- his eyes going wide in raw fear and panic. The camera focuses on his face for far too long, Okumura’s strangled gasps deafening in the horrified silence. It might last only a minute, or possibly a small lifetime, before Okumura’s eyes roll back in his head, and his chilling choking noises finally come to an end as he crashes down to the table, his head hitting the desk in front of him with a resounding _thud_.

 _“Okumura-san…?”_ Someone offscreen asks tentatively.

Only, Okumura doesn’t move again.

The camera lingers on his lifeless body for a moment too long before the live feed gets cut and replaced with a far too cheery “technical difficulties” screen that pops up in its place.

In the seconds of numb disbelief that follow, the room bathed in an aura of utter shock, Akira doesn’t want to believe what he’d just witnessed. It was as if Okumura...had a sudden heart attack, or was experiencing some delayed reaction to a bad combination of pills or something he’d taken earlier. There wasn’t anything saying that this was a mental shutdown. It’s not as if Akira had ever witnessed one before, and so really, there had to be some sort of visceral effect to separate one from a heart attack or something, right? This _couldn’t_ have been a mental shutdown. It couldn’t be...because that would mean…

...He feels like he’s going to be sick.

“F-Father…!?” Haru gasps, the first one to break the silence.

“Wh-why did he collapse?!” Ann asks.

“Akira-kun, what’s going on…?” Haru addresses him, looking to Akira for answers that he has no idea how to give her.

 _Fuck_.

“We did everything the same...” he tells her, his voice far too quiet and distant even to his own ears. That at least was the truth, the only thing he really had at the moment.

“You’re right, this shouldn’t have been possible...” Morgana adds. “We followed all the same steps.”

As he speaks, Akira can feel his gaze on him, but he can’t make himself meet his eyes. He knows exactly what he’s implying, that if this really was a mental shutdown, then it _couldn’t_ have been them. Which would mean it had to be the Black Mask whose identity Morgana had been trying to convince him of for the better part of the past two months.

Akira doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry.

“I should call home!” Haru gasps, standing from her seat, and moving a little bit away.

“This-This isn’t our fault...is it?” Ann asks the group as a whole. “It’s been okay all four times so far, ever since Kamoshida!”

“Are you okay, Futaba?” Yusuke cuts in, and Akira looks over to see him with a hand on her shoulder, Futaba herself staring sightlessly at the table in front of her. She gives a slow nod in response.

“This is...a lot like what happened to my mom…” she says quietly.

Her mom...who was also theoretically one of the Black Mask’s victims. But Wakaba’s death could have been accidental, so Okumura’s death could have also been accidental- if they’d been targeted by the same person, and neither of them had exactly been great people…

And _wow_ that was a really fucked up thought to be having right now. _Fuck_.

“Then what we just witnessed was in fact a mental shutdown,” Yusuke surmises, the group conversation continuing on without anyone knowing what was going through Akira’s head. And how the hell would they know, not like he ever _told_ them any of this.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

“I think? I guess?” Futaba says, suddenly sounding very far away to him. “I don’t know…It’s hard to remember.”

“Um...I-I have to go,” Haru interjects suddenly, pocketing her phone. Turning towards the door she adds a quick; “Sorry everyone,” before she rushes out of the cafe, ignoring Ann’s alarmed call of her name.

“This ain’t our fault, right...?” Ryuji asks, looking around at everyone for an answer that no one is willing to give.

“Do you think Goro knows?” Ann voices quietly.

At the sound of Akechi’s name, Akira’s head clears enough for him to quickly say; “I’ll call him,” with his voice coming out as numb as he feels. He knows an out when he hears one, and right now he needs some air or...something. There’s a small chance he’s on the edge of a breakdown, and he really needs to just...collect his thoughts or something.

Besides if anyone was going to call Akechi, it should probably be him. He _wanted_ it to be him. Even with everything going on he still kind of wished he was here- wants to hear his voice and...that probably was also really fucked up.

Akira barely registers leaving Leblanc with a barely muttered comment about wanting to call Akechi in private, before he finds himself sitting in the Laundromat, staring down at his phone as if it might hold all the answers somehow.

Goro Akechi. His teammate. One of his best friends. His boyfriend...and possibly the Black Mask- the person who very possibly murdered both Futaba’s mother and now Haru’s father. The latter right under their noses, without having told them a thing.

He glances up when Morgana makes his way into the laundromat, only to drop his gaze back down to his phone.

“Is it really immature of me to say I don’t want to believe it?” Akira voices quietly, finally admitting without outright saying it that he had been listening to Morgana, and that they were finally once again on the same page. That he’d finally admitted to himself that there was a very real possibility that Akechi was both Subject Zero and the Black Mask, even for as much as he wanted to keep counting the reasons he couldn’t be.

He’s well aware that Morgana could probably say ‘I told you so’ in a million different ways, to really hammer it in that Akira had only just recently accepted what they’d both suspected from the start.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Morgana silently makes his way over, jumping up and settling on Akira’s lap with a rumbling purr that’s clearly intended to soothe. Akira drops a hand onto his back, running his fingers slowly through his soft black fur.

“You care about him,” Morgana says gently, his ears low on his head. “...What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Akira answers, honest for once in his life. He smiles, a sad and self-deprecating turn of the lips. “Call him, pretend nothing is wrong, and then go back inside and watch a movie?” He shakes his head with a humorless laugh. “What else am I supposed to do, Mona? Ask him if he did it?”

Morgana doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that.

They fall into silence as Akira continues petting his fur, trying to collect his thoughts. If he did ask Akechi, there was no guarantee that he’d even tell the truth. And if Akechi _wasn’t_ the Black Mask, then he’d be what, accusing his new boyfriend of murder?

He couldn’t.

“I keep waiting for him to be honest with me,” Akira admits, his voice low. “Or to find some kind of evidence that it’s anyone but him...but what if nothing ever happens? How much longer do I even wait?”

“We could tell the others,” Morgana suggests. “See what they think?”

Akira shakes his head. “I can’t do that to him. I just...can’t.”

“Joker…”

The fact of the matter was that Akira was still loyal to him. That even the fact that he possibly just killed Haru’s father didn’t change the way Akira felt about him.

How fucked up was that?

“I need to call him,” Akira says, suddenly very tired of thinking. The others were going to be wondering what was taking him so long, and somewhere on the long list of reasons why Akira’s brain was broken- was the very real fact that he wanted to talk to Akechi. He felt like shit, and he _wanted_ to talk to him.

“Did you want to be alone?” Morgana asks gently, but Akira shakes his head, continuing to run a hand through his fur as he unpockets his phone with his other hand. Out of everyone, Morgana was the one who knew almost everything, and so no matter how this went, there wasn’t going to be anything that he shouldn’t be around to hear.

Morgana settles in on his lap, moving into a more comfortable position, and Akira hits _‘call’_ on Akechi’s number.

He picks up on the fourth ring.

“Kurusu,” he says immediately as he answers, and Akira’s heart flutters pathetically at the sound of his voice. It’s more comforting than it should be, and Akira instantly finds himself calming down a little, which he knows is a ridiculous reaction to have.

“Hey,” Akira says, and pauses, a little unsure how exactly to broach the subject. “So uh, Okumura...died. During the press conference.”

“I’m...aware,” Akechi says slowly, and it’s then that Akira picks up on how _off_ he sounds. “I was watching. I apologize, I’m still...processing.”

He sounds almost robotical as he says it, his voice flat and emotionless in a way that Akira had only heard from him once or twice before. It’s not incriminating, considering Akechi was also incredibly ill, and Akira knew that this would be hard to process for anyone on a good day. Still, it is a little worrying.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Akira voices before giving in and asking; “Are you...okay?”

And Akechi actually laughs, the sound choked and a little manic. “A strange question to ask, now of all times.” Akira supposes that it kind of is. “How is Okumura holding up?”

It takes him a moment to realize he means Haru.

“She left after she saw it happen,” Akira tells him. “I’ll call her a little later, after she has a bit more time to process.”

“Probably a good idea.”

Akira takes a deep breath, watching Morgana’s fur pass through the cracks of his fingers.

“...Akechi, how did this happen?”

He’s met with silence for a moment, long enough that Akira’s unsure if Akechi’s going to answer, before finally there’s the sound of a somewhat shaky sounding exhale.

“I don’t know,” Akechi admits, sounding genuinely shaken. “The change of heart should have worked...he wasn’t supposed to die. None of this makes sense, I don’t…” he pauses, the sound of him taking a deep steadying breath coming through the line. “I admit I don’t remember much while we were leaving since I was as ill as I was. Do you recall seeing anyone while we escaped?”

“No, I was too focused on you.”

“I see…” Akechi says slowly. There’s another pause, before he adds, tone contemplative; “It _is_ also possible that someone set this up to look like a mental shutdown. I’ll have to rewatch the footage...once my head’s a bit more clear.”

“Yeah…” Akira agrees, finding himself at least a little comforted by that. “There has to be some other explanation.”

“Right.”

Not really knowing what else to say, Akira allows the silence to linger between them for a moment longer before he finally says; “Well, I’ll...um let you go then.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

And with that, the line goes dead.

“It sounded like he was telling the truth,” Morgana says to him as he pockets his phone.

“Yeah, it did.”

And yet, somehow, Akira’s no longer so sure if that’s better or worse.

***

That night is the first night in a long series of days that Akira doesn’t stay over at Akechi's apartment. It’s not as if he’s formally moved over there anyway, or that this was an arrangement that Akechi would likely allow to continue every night once he felt a bit better. But the fact of the matter was that it still _feels_ like a big deal to Akira- knowing that Akechi is ill and yet not hurrying over to his house as soon as the remaining Phantom Thieves leave Lebanc.

And so, the next night after school, Akira picks up some groceries at the store in preparation to head over to his apartment, aware that Akechi’s stock of food that Akira had been supplying was low on the ingredients he would need to make dinner. And who even knew if Akechi had eaten the day before, considering how ill he was, which means Akira should probably make extra just in case he needed it…

 _You’re an idiot,_ he thinks to himself.

He should have gone over to see Akechi last night after everyone left. What good was leaving him alone when he was sick like this? Akira was an awful boyfriend.

When Akira knocks on his apartment door, it doesn’t take Akechi long to answer. He cracks the door open a small amount first, as if wary of unwanted people showing up, but relaxes and swings the door open once he realizes it’s only Akira.

“Kurusu,” he greets, still looking exhausted and like he wants nothing more than to crawl back to the couch and hide under the small collection of blankets he has there. He’s in nothing but his standard pajamas: his Featherman t-shirt and shorts- the outfit he’d stubbornly continued to wear even while complaining about how cold he was. Even now, he seems disgruntled, rubbing at his eyes as if Akira had managed to wake him from a nap, and all of Akira’s doubts and concerns about him fly away as if they’d never existed at all at the mere sight of him standing there.

In a moment of weakness, Akira slides forward in one graceful movement, and kisses him.

It’s not a particularly spectacular kiss, they’ve certainly had much better, but it’s soft, warm, and makes Akira’s heart flutter weakly anyway.

“At least come into my apartment first if you’re going to be like that,” Akechi mutters when they part, but there’s an unmistakable flush to his cheeks that makes Akira grin in victory.

Once Akira follows him into his apartment, Akechi predictably makes his way back over to the sofa, while Akira moves to put the grocery bags in the kitchen. He throws them all in the fridge, figuring that he’d just go through and properly put them away later, suddenly feeling a little impatient to go see Akechi.

Making his way back to the living room, Akira makes sure to take his temperature before doing anything, finding that his fever is slightly down from before, even if it’s still a little too high for comfort.

Afterwards, Akira sits on the sofa next to him, and Akechi immediately moves over to rest his head on his lap. Akira’s heart melts a little as he watches him get comfortable, feeling more relaxed than he has since the press conference as he slowly cards his fingers through Akechi’s soft hair.

Akechi hums in contentment, leaning into his touch like an oversized cat, and it might have only been a day, but somehow Akira finds that he’s missed this.

He was completely and utterly screwed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come over yesterday,” Akira tells him, gently smoothing some hair behind his ear.

“It’s fine,” Akechi says immediately. A beat of silence lapses between them before Akechi almost tentatively asks; “Where were you?”

“I stayed home,” Akira tells him, being entirely honest. “I was a little overwhelmed after the press conference. Well I mean I was fine. but-”

“You don’t have to be fine all the time, Kurusu,” Akechi cuts him off, peeking one eye open to hit him with a pointed glare. “Stop trying to hide every one of your emotions. It’s annoying.”

“Oh, is it now?” Akira can’t help but grin down at him knowingly. It was cute when he was being a hypocritical ass.

“Don’t give me that look,” Akechi says with another half-hearted glare. It might even be a slightly threatening look if Akechi wasn’t practically melting into him with Akira’s hands in his hair. “I’ve just been tired, that’s all.”

Akira doesn’t believe a word out of his lying mouth. Still, he’s not really in the mood to call him out on it, and so he just hums non-committedly, fine with taking the loss this time around.

“Did you want me to make dinner?” Akira asks after the two of them lapse back into a comfortable silence. “I’m sure you haven’t managed to eat anything without me.”

“I’ve survived on my own perfectly fine before you decided to take over my apartment, Kurusu,” Akechi points out petulantly with another hard look. Unfortunately for him, Akira’s not about to be fooled.

“So...what’d you make?”

“Ramen.”

Raising a brow at him, Akira says; “You do realize you can’t only eat noodles?”

One of these days he was going to go through all of Akechi’s cabinets and trash all of the noodles. He would of course need to find something to replace them with...unless he just decided to formally move himself in here and cook fresh food every day.

Somehow he doesn’t think Akechi would really approve, but still, it’s a thought he has.

“They’ve kept me alive so far,” Akechi tells him in a way that does absolutely nothing to assuage any of Akira’s small book of worries.

“I’m sure,” Akira tells him with all the doubt in his heart. “Well, in that case I’m going to-”

Only, before Akira can slide out from under him in order to get started on dinner, Akechi catches his wrist.

“In a bit,” Akechi says without looking at him, his fingers gripping onto Akira’s wrist a little too tightly. Gazing down at him in surprise, for the first time, Akira notices the bangle dangling off Akechi’s wrist, and his heart melts.

“Yeah,” Akira tells him, his tone impossibly fond. “Okay.”

***

When he’s not with Akechi, time seems to start and slow in a senseless motion. Akechi helps him forget, for as strange of a concept as that is. When Akira’s with him, Akechi earns his entire focus, as he normally does on a daily basis. And yet, when Akira is away from him, his thoughts take a turn towards blatant introspection in a way he can’t quite help. He finds himself slipping, slowly at first, into the persona he usually reserved for the Metaverse. It’s not a conscious effort, god only knew how hard it was to get _Joker_ to replace _Akira_ when he actually needed him, but instead maybe Joker just functioned as a type of autopilot for his broken brain.

It was funny really that the more detached Akira felt from the world, the stronger Joker’s influence seemed to be. Maybe all along, the key to unlocking Joker was pure dissociation. Who knew?

While he’s at school, between the moments where he’s lost somewhere deep in his own mind, he becomes distantly aware that Makoto Nijima seems to be on a mission to get his attention. At some point she mentions something about wanting Akira and his friends to help her count votes for the culture festival guest, and another time she mentions doing...something after school. Honestly Akira hadn’t been paying much attention.

He felt bad, but to her credit, he hadn’t been doing too great with paying much attention to anyone. The exception to that was Akechi, of course. It was always Akechi.

“Akira-kun, can I maybe talk to you for a bit-” Makoto tries to say to him again one day, running up to him in the hallway after school, right at the start of his daily after school mission to make it to Akechi’s apartment as quickly as possible.

“Not today, sorry,” he says, probably a little more curt than he needs to be. She frowns in response, and since he does genuinely like her and didn’t mean to upset her, he turns up the charm. “Another time, I promise.” He pairs his words with his very best smile, one he didn’t usually show since it was exaggerated past what he was comfortable with, but it clearly does its job as her expression instantly switches as if a flip had been switched.

“Oh, of course!” She says with a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Another time then!”

***

 _‘Another time’_ apparently comes a few nights later when Akira steps into Leblanc, intending to grab an overnight bag again before leaving for Akechi’s apartment, only to find Makoto sitting at the front counter.

“Oh, Akira-kun,” Makoto says, rising to her feet. “I was hoping to catch you after school but I guess we just missed each other,” she says, laughing a bit nervously as if this was an awkward one time thing that happened and Akira hasn’t professionally been avoiding her. “I was wondering if you had some time to talk?”

Knowing that he doesn’t exactly have a choice anyway, he agrees and the two of them settle into a booth in the back. Besides, at this point he has to admit he’s a little curious what she wants, if she was apparently willing to make her way all the way to Leblanc.

Of course, this curiosity dies in a burning fire the moment that Makoto actually speaks her reasoning.

“I wanted to talk to ask you about what happened with Okumura, and also something else,” Makoto tells him. “If I recall correctly, you are their leader, correct?”

It’s precisely then that Akira decides he can no longer deal with any of this. He was one teenage boy who just wanted to live his life normally, without his boyfriend possibly being the murderer of two of his friends’ parents, and now with the student council president sitting here and cutting into his time with said possible murderer boyfriend. He could only take two mental crises per week and this was infringing on his limit.

“No,” Akira tells her flatly, making his decision, “that would be Morgana.”

“ _What_?!” The new leader of the Phantom Thieves yowls from the booth seat.

“I formally resign as leader,” Akira continues without breaking eye contact with Makoto. “You can refer to him now.”

With that, he picks up a still squirming Morgana and places him on the table between them.

“Your...cat?” Makoto asks, eyeing him very skeptically as Morgana’s fur rises in agitation.

“I’m a human! And she can’t understand me, you idiot!”

“You’re smart,” Akira answers him with a shrug. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Are you...feeling alright?” Makoto asks tentatively.

 _No_. He was not feeling even close to okay. All he wanted to do was go cuddle on the sofa with his possible murderer boyfriend and forget about life for a while, but no, apparently the world couldn’t even allow him that.

“We didn’t do it…” Akira tells her very seriously, begging her to understand and just...let this go. “We don’t kill people.”

“I know. I’m not accusing you,” she says to his immediate surprise, her tone not at all unkind. “I’m just...a bit confused. I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I thought that this would be easier. But um, can I ask you something?” She pauses and only continues when he nods for her to go on. “Your methodology, how do you perform a change of heart?”

In all honesty, it’s not that odd of a question. Considering how nosey she could be and how long she’s known about them being the phantom thieves, he’s actually more surprised that she hasn’t asked _sooner_. And well, if she was really concerned that they might be responsible for what happened to Okumura, then it stood to reason that she might be curious about what their methods actually entailed.

Of course, he’s not exactly too sure how much she’s actually going to understand or even believe about all this without seeing it for herself. And he also usually referred to Morgana for these types of explanations, but since Makoto couldn’t exactly hear him, that left it up to Akira to try to do his best and explain.

“We go into the Metaverse, the uh cognitive world,” Akira starts, trying his best to put it in a way that was easily digestible. “And we go into a person’s palace to steal the core of their desires: their…treasure. And people who have their treasure stolen have a change of heart.”

“I see… “ Makoto says as if she actually was able to comprehend what he was saying. Akira’s not really sure how much he would have gotten from that if it had been him in her place. “And so can anyone have a palace?”

He looks to Morgana for that one, and Morgana nods. “Yeah, technically. If their distortion is big enough to form one.”

Akira repeats this information to Makoto, who luckily seems to have already gotten over the weirdness of Akira talking to his cat. She was a good sport, and he’s glad she approved.

Makoto nods, looking thoughtful, as if she’s considering something. “So, can I ask you something else then?” She asks, once again only continuing once she has approval. “Does my sister have one of these palaces?”

And Akira has to admit he certainly hadn’t been expecting that question to come out of her mouth. Trading a look with Morgana and not really able to think of a reason why he _shouldn’t_ check the Nav in front of Makoto, Akira pulls out his phone, activates the Nav, and then asks for her to speak her sister's name.

“Sae Niijima,” she says clearly.

_“Candidate found.”_

“It’s a hit!” Morgana hisses.

“I figured as much…” Makoto sighs, looking down at the table with a downcast expression.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Akira notes, and Makoto nods in confirmation.

“My sister hasn’t been herself lately and...it was just a suspicion I had that my sister was the type of person you all would do a change of heart on.”

There’s a lot of weight in her words, as well as the way in which she says them. And once again Akira finds himself wondering what the hell had been going through her head that brought her all the way here. This really hadn’t been the way he’d expected this conversation to go when she’d first started it.

“Makoto,” he says slowly. “Why did you come here? You mentioned Okumura?”

“Oh um yes. Well, not really…” She once again seems uncharacteristically nervous and Akira’s not really sure what to make of it. With a small smile she continues trying to explain; “I’ve just had some...concerns and I thought talking to you might help. And it has. Sorry, I don’t think I’m making much sense,” she sighs again, dropping her gaze. “I think I still need some time to think, but if it’s okay, I’d like to meet with you and your team in a few days. I think I’ll be ready by then.”

“You’re asking for a lot,” Akira points out, her proposition not being one that he’d even stop to consider if he didn’t trust her. Lucky for Makoto, she’d already proven herself trustworthy all the way back when they’d taken down Kaneshiro.

Still, it was definitely a pretty big request.

“I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

Akira shares another look with Morgana, seeing his own skepticism reflected in his gaze.

“I think we should at least hear her out,” Morgana says after a moment, and Akira knows he has a point.

“Okay,” Akira agrees, looking back at Makoto. “Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll arrange a meeting.”

Makoto exhales, her relief palpable.

“Thank you,” she says very honestly, leaving Akira to wonder what the hell he just signed up for.

***

Makoto calls in their deal only a few days later, on the 21st of October. It’s a Friday, and so they agree to meet after the school day is concluded.

They decide to all meet on top of the school rooftop after Haru makes the suggestion, since apparently she had a small garden organized up there. Akira had of course mentioned how several members of their ragtag little group didn’t attend Shujin, only to have himself surprised once again when Makoto offered a way that she could help sneak them in.

Which is exactly how the entire phantom thieves team, plus Makoto, find themselves on the school rooftop, all making idle chatter while Makoto hovers awkwardly in the middle, as if she’s unsure where to even start.

Even Akechi managed to make it, after stubbornly refusing to stay home, stating that he refused to be locked up like a shut-in any longer than he already had, no matter if he still wasn’t fully back to normal yet. His fever had at least been very slowly going down the past few days, not that it seemed to have any effect on how cold he constantly was nowadays. It was fairly obvious even now that he still wasn’t feeling well, considering the way he was clearly leaning heavily against the wall, and not to mention the way that he’d staggered on his feet more than once on their way here. Even still, he’s beautiful under the afternoon sunlight, perfect aside from the bags under his eyes, visible even through the layers of caked-on makeup.

Haru, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be doing much better, only for different reasons. She looks reserved; her eyes appearing as if they might now be permanently red around the edges. She also looks exhausted, although whenever she caught his gaze she’d try for a weary smile.

Meanwhile the rest of the group seems to either be busy arguing or trying to help Haru with her garden. Maybe they were multitasking? It was hard to say, really.

What Akira did know was that _this_ was his group, the team he was supposed to be leading. A ragtag group of misfits who he loved dearly. And yet, he couldn’t help but continue to think that maybe he wasn’t quite cut out for this. He was... _tired_ , admittedly. Never has he felt more out of his depth, like the world just decided to turn on its axis and show him just how unprepared he was for all of this.

It’s with that thought, that Makoto clears her throat, steps forward, and finally starts- her voice now strong and true despite any previous nervousness she’d displayed.

 _She at least looks like a leader,_ Akira thinks to himself humorlessly.

“You all are aware that I know you’re the Phantom Thieves,” she says, addressing them all. “I understand that Okumura was your latest target and I saw what happened with him. But, with that being said, I don’t want to believe that any of you are capable of that, although my sister might think otherwise...”

“Sae-san,” Akechi interjects, and Akira suddenly remembers that Akechi had mentioned working with Makoto’s sister before. He’s not sure why it took him so long to make that connection, although he supposes Akechi never really talked too much about her...or his detective work in general, really.

...Maybe Akira should ask about it at some point, especially since they were dating.

In response to Akechi, Makoto nods once in confirmation before continuing.

“My sister hasn’t been herself lately,” she says. “She, as well as the police, have decided that the Phantom Thieves are responsible for the murders. My sister is the one in charge of the investigation, and from what I’ve heard, she’s planning to arrest you all.”

Honestly, Akira should probably be more surprised. But he already knew cops were garbage, so what was it for them to create a false warrant and arrest them? They’d arrested him on false charges after all. So, the Phantom Thieves existing as a group of powerless kids who were able to take the fall without any repercussions on the police force? Of course the cops would jump at the opportunity.

“What!?” Ryuji curses. “That’s complete bullshit!?”

“Ryuji! Quiet down!” Ann hisses.

“They’re going to treat me as my father’s murderer…?” Haru says in clear shock, and Akira’s heart once again hurts for her.

“She’s under a lot of pressure from the higher ups,” Makoto says, a degree of pity in her gaze when she regards Haru. “They want to settle the case as soon as possible.” She pauses, a crinkle forming in her brow as she turns to face Akechi. “Akechi, you work with my sister. Didn’t you know?”

It doesn’t escape Akira’s notice that there’s genuine surprise in Akechi’s expression; however, it’s gone from his face in an instant, replaced with something much more contemplative.

“I admit I’ve been somewhat...busy with other matters,” he says slowly, clearly choosing his words carefully. “School work, entrance exams, my TV appearances...I suppose I just wasn't told.” He turns his detective prince smile back on in full force, which is a dead giveaway for just how shaken he’s been by this. Akira doesn’t doubt that he really had no idea, but Akechi probably felt that he should have.

Akechi catches his gaze and Akira receives a telltale glare in response.

He’d ask him more about it later, then.

“I see...” Makoto says, also seeming a bit surprised by this revelation.

“Do they not require evidence that we did it?” Yusuke asks. “How do they intend on proving it?”

Akechi answers before Makoto can. “Even if there is no objective explanation to the method, it’s over once causality is established. It appears Sae-san can’t make rational judgments at the moment. If she were to be cornered...she may even make up a confession.”

Makoto nods. “I fear that may be the case as well.”

“So they’re gonna make it all our fault!?” Ryuji says with obvious anger that Akira can fully understand. “Just ‘cause they feel like it!?”

“We haven’t killed anyone though!” Ann adds. “And we’re still going to be arrested?”

“Yes,” Makoto says, to her credit, looking as unhappy about this as the rest of them. “Although I honestly can’t bring myself to think that any of you are responsible. Which is why, I want to help you.”

“You want to help us?” Futaba asks, speaking up from where she’d been looking through something on her laptop.

“Yes,” Makoto repeats. “I’ve already spoken to Akira a bit about your methods, and the two of us have checked and found that my sister does indeed have a palace.”

“You want us to change her heart,” Akechi surmises and Makoto nods in response.

“Yes,” she says, “but with one condition.”

“Which is?” Akira asks, honestly curious.

“Take me with you,” she says, meeting his eyes. “I’d like to accompany you so I can witness your actions. It’s my sister, I won’t take no for an answer.”

There’s steel in her gaze, a quiet determination and resolution that tells Akira that she’s already thought a lot about this and has made her choice. A choice that will not be taken from her in any capacity.

“Okay,” Akira agrees, finding no room for argument. If she wanted to get in on this mess, then she was more than welcome to.

“Oh, I’m pleased to see that was so easy,” Makoto says with a relieved smile. “Should we start today then?”

Akira shakes his head.

“Not today. I’ll contact you when we’re ready to meet up,” he tells her, pausing only briefly before adding; “Welcome to the team, Makoto.”

The others gather around her without the slightest bit of hesitation in a clear display of their trust in Akira’s decision, welcoming the newest addition to their little family with open arms.

Well, everyone except for one.

Akira finds his gaze falling on Akechi, an old habit that probably would never truly die. He watches as Akechi stays leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, as he regards Makoto somewhat coldly.

Once again, Akira wishes that he knew what was going through his head. Last night there had been a moment when Akechi had been talking about Okumura, his voice going quiet when he posed the question of whether or not Akira would continue changing hearts if the phantom thieves were in fact the ones responsible for Okumura’s death.

Akira hadn’t really known how to answer. And yet, when Akira deflected the question back at him, there had been a _moment_ when Akechi’s demeanor changed, shrinking into himself in a way that spoke of sudden vulnerability. And Akira thought that _maybe_...maybe that would be the moment when Akechi was finally honest with him.

...But then there’d been...something said on TV…? Or at least Akira thinks that’s what might have caused it. He blacked out for a moment, a vision of _something_ coming to the forefront of his mind. By the time he came back to it, finding both Morgana and Akechi staring at him in concern, he could no longer remember what it was.

It was probably nothing. A dizzy spell brought on by stress, that’s all.

Now, from across the small distance between them, Akechi finally meets his eyes, and Akira holds his stare... _searching_. There’s a clear challenge hidden in the intensity of Akechi’s gaze, a spark of their rivalry rising to the surface, like when they’d had their staring contest a small lifetime ago. Only this time, Akira watches as something flickers in his expression- a degree of nervousness or possibly even _guilt_ slipping through the cracks until Akechi finally looks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akira to Morgana: Mona, somehow I don't think we're in a romantic comedy anymore. 
> 
> Also thank you so much to [Lolo](https://twitter.com/AbsenceofRoses) who read this chapter through for me very last minute!!

**Author's Note:**

> Summary quote is from HK47 from KOTOR. 
> 
> All chapters written in Akira's pov are written by Pana, and all chapters from Goro's pov are written by Kiva~  
> Expect weekly updates! And please comment and/or kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> You can find us on Twitter:  
> @pana_pancake, @kivaember
> 
> **FANART**
> 
>  **[Chapter 9: Aquarium Date](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1359181675310292994?s=20)** by Maha!  
>  **[Chapter 9: Futaba's Palace](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1359556406807064576?s=20)** by Maha!  
>  **[Chapter 10: Black Condor Hoodie Goro](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1358878391492104192?s=20)** by Maha  
>  **[Chapter 18: Goro and Loki :)](https://twitter.com/Poichanchan/status/1361031924005953545?s=20)** by Maha


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